


Mock The Time

by seaweediscool



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: After Camlann Merlin Big Bang, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Friendship, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04, Regicide, Temporary Character Death, Treason, Unhappy Ending, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-09-26 13:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaweediscool/pseuds/seaweediscool
Summary: Magic has returned to Camelot in all its glory in the hope that one day Merlin may return. Three years after his banishment (that only lasted three days truth be told), Merlin does so but appears to be a changed man.Yet appearances can be deceiving. Although Merlin may be familiar to the prospect of treason whilst under the thumb of the usurper of Essetir, the question remains whether he'll be able to betray his destiny.Whether he'll be able to betray the man that he loves.Post S4 AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [{Art} for Mock the Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20551964) by [Valika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valika/pseuds/Valika). 

> For ACBB 2019. Thank you to the ACBB mods for hosting the fest once again and to Kitty especially for helping with embedding the artwork. This experience has been great and I hope to partake in the fest again in the future.
> 
> A massive thank you to my artist Valika who has been an absolute gem. Not only have they created the headers for each chapter, they have also made a cover, a map, and a recurring symbol from the piece. Your manips always came at the times when I was thinking of giving up and/or in a severe writer's block - they always gave me inspiration and drive to continue. 
> 
> Another thank you to my beta vickytokio who I wrangled in early April. Your changes have made the fic a whole lot better aha.
> 
> Credit to Shakespeare for quotes from Macbeth and references to A Midsummer Night's Dream and The Tempest. See if you can spot them as you go along.
> 
> All spells taken from Merlin Wiki or translated from Old English. All place names derived from Old Welsh (apart from Dore which has been named as such since 1000AD).
> 
> Warnings are in the end notes.

_Three years after banishment. _

"Camelot?" Merlin asked, fear sparking in his heart, the likes of which he hadn't felt for years.

"Yes," Nusar replied, cool and composed as always. "No need to look so afraid, the ban on magic was lifted nigh on three years ago."

"It's not the ban I'm worried about my Lord. I regret to inform you that King Arthur banished me personally on pain of death. I won't be able to attend the tournament."

Politeness oozed from the warlock's words, something which had been adopted into his demeanour. His peasantry character and quips had been removed a week into King Nusar's service and not a month later he had been moulded into a man akin to a lap dog. That was two years ago and still Merlin stuck to his role of bodyguard to the usurper of Essetir.

"But you’re banished not only in Nemeth but Mercia and Carleon too, and that hasn’t deterred us in our plans." Nusar's tone was one of confusion; after all, Merlin had fought in the various tournaments there, albeit they were ones in which no Camelot knight was present.

"Camelot is more of a," he paused, finding a single word of which to describe his attachment to the kingdom and its people. "Camelot is more of a _personal matter_. Banishment for treason is different, especially when your highness is involved in the negotiations. I fear King Arthur may not be as lenient as Rodor."

Nusar paused for thought and Merlin was left stood in front of the throne for nearly a minute before Nusar began again.

"What is this _personal attachment_?" Nusar gestured with his hand; Merlin could sense his master was getting annoyed with his usually pliant sorcerer.

"I would rather not say."

"I think you'd _better _provide a reason why the fabled Emrys is refusing to attend a tournament, the likes of which you have won many times before!" Nusar punctuated his sentence by slamming a closed fist into the arm rest on his throne.

Merlin resisted the urge to jump, but he couldn't clamp down on the hiss that escaped as the iron bangles around his wrists began to burn like they always did when Nusar became angry with the warlock.

"I was his personal manservant from his twenty first summer to one year into his reign. I am acquainted well with his round table knights and was a close confident to Arthur’s inner circle. I was also the ward to the court physician but none knew about my magic until three years previous. I cannot go back. I do not ask you for many things, sire, but this is one thing I must insist upon - I beg you to not bring me to Camelot with you," Merlin fell to one knee, head bowed, the image of subservience.

He heard Nusar's footsteps echo against the stone floor as he made his way from the throne held upon a dais. Merlin forced down the urge to look up, knowing that if he did, he'd threaten Nusar's kingship - the man was sensitive about such things. Nusar came to a stop in front of Merlin, quiet for a few moments until a finger tilted Merlin's head to meet his eyes.

"Why, Sir Merlin, I think it's high time we took Camelot for ourselves," Nusar's eyes sparkled and Merlin felt his heart fall into his gut.

***

"Lower your cloak," Nusar hissed as they passed through Camelot's lower town a week later.

Merlin obliged unwillingly as he led the Esseterian party, head still held high and back remarkably straight. Eyes focused on finding any dangers. Every so often he'd notice a face he'd seen in his time in Camelot and he'd meet their gaze with a ferocious glare that sent them in whispers to the person stood beside.

It was painful in a way that Merlin had never experienced before. He longed intensely to be back on those cobbled streets, running an errand for Gaius or retrieving Gwaine from the tavern, drunk and swearing. He refused to think of Arthur, at least for the moment.

Soon enough the party emerged in the courtyard, flanked by Camelot guards. He was surprised that no one had tried to knock him off his jet-black horse or attempt to shoot him with an arrow. Nevertheless, he arrived at the castle unharmed, the familiar landscape pulled at his magic intensely, the sensation of which was made stronger when his focus locked upon Arthur.

By the goddess. _Arthur_.

Splendid as always in the bright red of his kingdom and crown adorned with jewels affixed upon his golden hair. Somehow the king had gotten even more beautiful in Merlin's absence; stronger, fairer, happier almost. And for that Merlin was glad. At least the prat hadn't died in their time apart.

To Arthur's left stood Guinevere, the epitome of elegance in a maroon gown and brown locks twisted with flowers complimenting her own crown, smaller than Arthur's but brilliant all the same. Her face turned upwards in a smile as she conversed with Arthur, her laugh heard by Merlin even halfway across the courtyard. She too seemed happy; Merlin couldn't ask for anything more.

They didn't notice him at first. Merlin had changed from the boy they once knew and he'd done a lot of growing in the past three years. His hair had been allowed to lengthen and curl and there was a distinguished scruff in place of a beard. A scar ran along the bridge of his nose, claimed to be won in a tavern brawl and his hands had become rougher yet stronger and agile, able to wield a sword; Merlin's body had altered into a fitness he never thought he'd possess. A fine appearance for a dashing knight.

The party came to a stop, mere feet from the stone steps. Merlin dismounted quickly, giving his horse a pat on her flank before moving to help Nusar down. He daren't face towards Arthur and Gwen so instead busied himself with checking Nusar's bridle and reins for any damages whilst still listening in on the conversation.

"King Nusar," Arthur began in the same way he had done for years when addressing a noble. "My wife and I gladly welcome you to Camelot."

"Thank you, King Arthur," Nusar said, pulling off his riding gloves. "Not only for hosting your tournament but for allowing me into your lands."

"Nonsense, nonsense my dear guest," Arthur had begun to make his way down the stairs and soon met Nusar at the foot of them; the two grasped forearms. "I do hope that we can become good allies in the future, friends even. In lieu of this, may I present my manservant, George, who'll be looking after you during your stay. He's the most _efficient _servant I've ever had the pleasure of meeting."

The servant himself appeared from somewhere behind Gwen, addressing Nusar with a deep bow. George might have been efficient but he sure was boring. Gods, and to think Arthur had suffered under the man's efficiency for almost three years. Although, _that_ was Arthur's fault in the first place.

"There is no need for such an endeavour, my friend," Nusar exclaimed dismissively; George was rather taken aback. "For I would only trust my bodyguard and champion to assist me in my needs, after all, he was trained as such right here in Camelot, weren't you Sir Merlin?"

Nusar was mean, but this was downright cruel. Merlin may have been a way of keeping Arthur quiet, but there was no need to imply this so openly. Although, perhaps Nusar was trying to spread Merlin's return as quickly as possible and wear Arthur down, to play on the rightful king’s emotions. Nevertheless, it was a game that Nusar was most practised in.

The bangles burned slightly so Merlin turned around and forced himself to look at the stonework behind Arthur's head.

"Yes, my Lord," Merlin said, voice strong and loud the very sound of a knight.

"He has warned me about his banishment of course," Nusar softened his volume, speaking almost conspiratorially. "But I do hope you'll excuse it. Sir Merlin is the only man I can trust and my most able fighter. I promise he won't cause any issues."

"I'll take your word for it," Arthur's voice was strained which Merlin assumed meant that Arthur was a fraction away from stabbing his old friend through the gut. If Merlin had focused on Arthur instead of the wall, he would have noticed Arthur's features were upturned in shock but, most importantly in longing.

***

Magic had found its place in Camelot, Merlin was overjoyed to find. Floating lanterns decorated the banquet hall in a variety of colours and small fire dragons of the Pendragon flag whipped through and around them but never straying too far from the edges of the hall. Goblets of wine were kept filled by those servants who had the skill, a couple of whom Merlin had seen in the castle before his departure. To see Uther’s work go to waste was wondrous and breath-taking. 

Despite insisting that he stay stood behind Nusar, watching for any dangers, the usurper seemed to have wanted to make Merlin's life all the more distressing and sent him to go mingle with Arthur's knights who'd already begun drinking with Nusar's. So, he went and stood by Sir Friol, a knight whom he had sparred with many a time in Essetir and one that Merlin was developing a slight friendship with. Friol handed Merlin an empty goblet which Merlin allowed to be filled by a nearby servant, whose spell fell from their lips easily.

It wasn't long before he spotted Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival; the noticeable absence of Lancelot hurt. The three were causing trouble as per, and Sir Leon seemed exasperated and had given up trying to control the rowdy bunch, rather sitting back and watching over the edge of his cup.

Gwaine balanced on Percival's shoulders, wielding a drink in place of a sword and describing a battle he'd had with a wyvern in his younger days before he was introduced to Arthur. Wine sloshed from his goblet, but Percival didn't seem to mind about the red marks now staining his shirt. Elyan stood to the side cheering Gwaine on. They too were happy.

"I thought the knights of Camelot were meant to be noble not drunkards," Friol sneered. 

Merlin hummed in agreement, taking a sip from his goblet.

"If they keep up like this, Arthur won't have any left to be his champion!"

"That makes it all the easier for me," Merlin said coolly, watching as Gwaine recalled slicing the wyvern -

"From the knave to the chaps, fellas! The noble Sir Gwaine does not lie!"

Cheers rang out from the Camelot knights. Merlin stayed quiet but could not stop the assault that fell from Friol's tongue.

"Noble?! I've seen nobler dogs that you, Sir Knight, prancing about and claiming to kill creatures of magic. Your words reek of contempt whilst your body reeks of the drink. Why don't you go back to the tavern that you were clearly raised in!?"

Gwaine slung a leg around from Percival's shoulders, dropping to his feet on the stone floor rather well for one so inebriated.

"I shall do the same to you like I did to the wyvern if you don't shut your mouth!"

Merlin knew he had to intervene.

"Come now," he said, goblet discarded hastily. "Must we resort to violence? I am sure Sir Friol did not mean to cause offence."

Merlin stepped between the two seething men, hands outstretched, one toward each man. He felt his magic bubbling to the surface of his skin, ready to blast the knights into the wall, but a slight twinge at his wrists forced the magic down - Nusar was watching and didn't want him to use his magic just yet.

It was then that Gwaine launched a fist towards Merlin's face; the warlock was shocked for but a moment (after all, his last meeting with Gwaine had been less than pleasant) before he grabbed Gwaine's arm, twisted it behind his back, and held the knight in position. It was a cruel replica of Arthur and Merlin's first meeting and the two old friends noticed this at the same second. Swords were drawn from their sheaths and the kings stood up from their seats. The hall turned deathly silent.

"Stand down, Merlin," Arthur commanded

Merlin did not, gaze locked on Nusar's gleeful demeanour.

"Do as he says," Nusar said, voice stern with an underlying amusement that only Merlin picked up on.

Merlin released Gwaine; the former standing stock still, hands behind his back and legs shoulder width apart; the latter rubbing at his shoulder with an expression of disbelief painted along his features.

"I must apologise, my lords. I was trying to stop a brawl from occurring between fellow knights and I did not mean to cause such a reaction," Merlin inclined his head most probably stunning the people of Camelot who had never seen the once cheeky servant be so polite and compliant. 

"That's okay," Arthur was at a loss for words.

"I think it's time that I introduced my champion properly," Nusar smiled. "Sir Merlin of Essetir, a formidable opponent if I may say so myself. A legend amongst men, a warrior, and magic incarnate!”

Merlin's magic rushed towards the surface of his skin, making his fingers tingle. Wrists not burning rather supported by the warmth of the bangles he let gold spark in his eyes and took the fire dragons from their places, moulding them into his previous battles.

The man in the images took Merlin's form and sliced through gruesome opponents, sword and magic used as easy weapons. He clearly was the best fighter on the battlefield, never pausing for breath or to notice whom he had killed. Princes and lords were cut down in various battles, some in lush forests that answered to the warlock's call with branches and roots doing his bidding, but many out on the tourney. The final image was in a castle (Beormingahám’s citadel, Arthur recognised) with Nusar's well-muscled form at his side; Merlin blasted Lot into oblivion and allowed his king to take his rightful place on the throne.

The image dissipated. Merlin lowered his hands and stood still once again. Silence permeated; the gathering was not in such good cheer after that.

***

"That was an excellent display tonight," Nusar said, discarding of his crown to Merlin's awaiting hands.

"I only aim to please," Merlin placed the crown in a box on the nearby dresser and then moved to help Nusar from his chainmail.

"That you do," Nusar hummed thoughtfully, moving towards the window when out of his mail; he looked into the night, Merlin's attention completely focused on his king. "Tomorrow you train with the boy of a king."

"Of course," Merlin lit the fire with a thought and then went to pull down Nusar's bedsheets.

"Let the fool win, not anyone else. He still has a few days to name his champion until the other kingdoms join us in Camelot," Nusar grinned and turned toward Merlin, his darker skin a stark contrast to Merlin's alabaster complexion. "And then we shall end the Pendragon reign before he claims all of Albion for himself."

Merlin couldn't hold the fear and disgust that rippled through his body and it was something that was transferred onto his face, plain for Nusar to see. The warlock didn't move, letting Nusar advance as a predator. Years ago, this would have been laughable, but now Merlin was completely at this man's mercy. The greatest mage to ever walk the earth was stopped by a thin strip of cold iron with runes of claim, rule, and control etched upon them.

Nusar came to a stop, his height, similar of that to Merlin's, appeared to dwarf the sorcerer. He'd never felt so small.

"You have feelings for the boy," Nusar said softly, trailing a thumb across Merlin's jawline. "Oh, this is a sorry sight."

Merlin said nothing. Inside his magic was in turmoil; the majority of it pulling toward Arthur however the minor part was feebly clinging to Nusar. The forced bargain tugged on Merlin's mind and throbbed at his wrists but his magic that was still attached to Arthur paid no heed, stretching mercilessly in the direction of Arthur's chambers.

Merlin closed his mind and pushed the magic still loyal to Arthur deep down inside himself to the darkest points of his being - it would take hours for it to resurface. For the moment he was Nusar's alone and the magic that responded to the king was fearful yet devoted.

"I wouldn't ask this of you, Emrys, if it wasn't necessary but if we are to create Albion then there must be sacrifices," Nusar withdrew his touch and went back to the window, admiring a kingdom that would fall to its knees.

"You are _not _the Once and Future King," Merlin's magic may have been distant but his loyalty to Arthur was not of his magic but of his mind; it seemed the close proximity to his true king had assured the warlock a sense of self once again. "You are not the man destined to unite Albion and you _never_ will be. You think that because you control my magic you control my mind. You'll never get away with this, I won't let you. Arthur is the true king of Albion and you've known that for some time. He's my destiny and I will stop you!"

Nusar was bemused.

"_Whatever_ it takes," Merlin added fiercely and flung a knife, swiftly pulling it from his boot, toward Nusar. It fell short of its target, Merlin's own magic stopping it mid-flight.

"You forget, sorcerer, that you cannot harm me!"

"Go to hell!"

"Oh, I shall and I'll meet you there after you've killed the boy," Nusar laughed.

"I won't! I can't kill him, he's my _destiny_. I have to protect him."

"Your _destiny_ changed," Nusar stormed forward and grabbed Merlin's lower face, a parody of a lover’s touch; Merlin's hands wouldn't obey his will and remove Nusar's. "It changed as soon as you were joined to me! And you would do well to remember that, or shall we repeat your first few days under my care? Hmm?"

"My destiny will not change for _you_," Merlin spat.

Nusar released his hold and Merlin stumbled slightly before being met with the back of Nusar's hand. A ring caught on the flesh of Merlin's cheek sending the mage to the ground, all battle hardiness vanishing in an instant. He had never wanted to do this.

A cool silence permeated.

"Will that be all, Sire?" Merlin asked, voice steady somehow.

"Send a servant up in the morning. You will redeem yourself on the training field."

"Yes, my lord, as you command," Merlin stood and left the room silently ignoring the pounding at his cheek.

He didn't head straight to his guest chambers, choosing instead to walk about the castle that he knew so well, reminded at every step at all that he'd lost for someone as cruel as Morgana. Here was a darkened passageway that she had pulled him into as friend and as foe. There was the route they had taken to get the druid boy to safety. A scorch mark on the floor where she had set a curtain alight and knocked Merlin out. All in all, it was his fault for this - poison still laced his heart where he'd poisoned his lady.

Merlin had loved her once. In a twisted way he still did but his devotion to another Pendragon was much stronger and had always shadowed his love of Morgana. That was the choice he had made and would still make. Arthur was Merlin's bane; anyone who had ever spoken to him knew that as well as he did.

Emrys would do anything for his once and future king.

But now destiny had been ripped apart by Nusar, soon to be high king of all Albion, taking the spot that was meant to be Arthur's in a most despicable way. Merlin had doubts whether the dragon was right about the king he was fated to follow.

With questions of whether his destiny had in fact changed for Nusar, Merlin accidentally found himself outside of Arthur's chambers. Apparently, his magic wanted him there no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. An intense longing left a gaping hole in his stomach, threatening to expand into his entirety yet, somehow, he could not bring himself to move either to knock on the door or to get away. He stood there for a while and thought of what could have been. Arthur was never meant to be his alone; Arthur had a country to run, battles to fight, a wife to love - Merlin was just a servant and a lousy one at that. And yet there had been a noticeable _friendship _(an apparent unrequited love on Merlin’s behalf, hidden behind sarcastic smiles and a true heart) between them that wasn't usual between servants and their masters. One that certainly wasn't present between Merlin and Nusar. 

A sound. The door opened, flooding the passageway with warm light, allowing just enough to pool against Gwen's tired features, but closed just as quickly.

"Merlin," Gwen said, confusion seeping in. "Arthur's asleep but I can-"

She went to open the door but was stopped by Merlin's murmuring.

"No! I mean, that won't be necessary my lady, I mean your royal highness. I don't know what I'm doing here. Well, obviously I know what I'm doing in Camelot, but not here. Outside King Arthur's chambers. Looking like a complete fool. On that note, I bid you goodnight your majesty, may you dream of happy times."

"You're bleeding," Gwen frowned.

"Yes," Merlin's eyes glowed. "But not anymore."

"It's still there," Gwen took his hand in her own, remarkably soft despite growing up a blacksmith's daughter, and held it as she led him back to her chambers; Merlin didn't resist.

At Gwen's chambers they were met by a serving girl with remarkably shiny hair whom the queen instructed to fetch some warm water and a cloth after which she was then excused. Merlin took the initiative and sat himself down at the oak table in the middle of the room eyes darting about astounded at the opulence of Morgana's old chamber. The bed was still the same but there were more paintings most notably of Elyan and Arthur stood side by side - a piece of parchment underneath read _'My Knights of Camelot_'. Another painting in the corner was of Gwen's old home and next to it was one of her father's workshop - these were not labelled. Around the room lay fine embroidered pieces, Gwen's skills as a seamstress obviously aiding her in her work. And just there, in the corner, pressed flowers, the colour and type still clear - Merlin felt a profound sadness. They were the flowers he'd given to Gwen on her birthday three days before everything had gone to hell. He felt his aloof exterior dissolve.

Gwen pulled another chair round to meet Merlin somehow making it look graceful. She had always been the queen intended for Arthur and that had been something Merlin had known from the start of their courtship despite his own feelings on the matter.

"Morgana's old chambers?" he asked as Gwen took her seat after the serving girl had brought what was asked of her.

"Yes. She was my friend to begin with," Gwen took the cloth to his face, wiping away congealed blood.

"She died."

That was no question and Gwen knew it.

"She appeared one morning in her bed. She looked beautiful as she did when she was our friend but she was cold and Gaius said that she was already gone. It seemed appropriate to take her rooms," Gwen paused, hand and cloth hovering in the space between bowl and face. "Did you kill her?"

"Yes," he said because he did.

"Did you want to?"

"Yes," he said because he did in the end. "She didn't suffer, I made sure of it."

Gwen resumed her cleaning of the wound and Merlin attempted not to wince. Nusar knew how to fight and where the best place was to strike a man down.

"You've changed," Gwen stated, wringing water from the cloth.

"Banishment does that to people."

"No, it doesn't," Gwen responded immediately, annoyance clear. "I didn't change. Neither did Gwaine or Lancelot. We didn't become cruel and we certainly didn’t go off and kill a king."

"None of you had magic," Merlin said as though that would be the end of it.

"The Merlin I knew wasn't like this. He was true and kind and loyal to the core. I know he's still there," Gwen finished off cleaning the wound, fingers trailing across Merlin’s cheek tenderly, _motherly. _

"How can I when the only reason Arthur won't run me through where I stand is because of Nusar?"

"_Arthur_ is your _friend_!" Gwen shouted with furrowed brow; she removed her fingers from his skin, taking something he didn’t realise he’d regained. "He looked for you for _months_, Merlin. He went mad with the desire to see you again and lifted your banishment instantly. We even sent word to Ealdor." 

"I never went back to Ealdor," Merlin said. "I couldn’t. You _know_ I couldn’t."

"Then where did you go?" Gwen implored.

"Carleon, Mercia, Nemeth, the Western Isle. Nowhere and everywhere," Merlin sighed, the pressure of destiny and knighthood resting upon his shoulders. "I've spent the last two years with Nusar and I didn't want to endanger my mother."

"Oh Merlin," Gwen took Merlin's hands into her own, thumbs rubbing over his palms; Merlin retracted, wrists burning - Nusar knew he was in the queen of Camelot's chambers. He had to get information on something otherwise, well, Nusar followed through on his threats even against the fabled Emrys.

"I'm surprised not to hear the sounds of children," Merlin began tentatively. "I thought an heir would be of great importance to Arthur."

Gwen frowned. Sir Merlin of Essetir had returned it seemed.

"Not yet. We have been trying."

"Do you want me to check?"

The magic loyal to Nusar surged forward and Merlin was astounded not to already see tendrils of golden light floating toward Gwen. She nodded and Merlin crouched on his knees, hands meeting her stomach tenderly. There was some irony in this - Uther's grandchild was to be touched by magic also, recreating some ghastly vision of a time nigh on thirty years past. But there wouldn't be a renewed purge, not for some time to come.

"Two. A boy and a girl. Healthy thus far. You're not too far along, a couple of weeks perhaps," Merlin's eyes were closed, concentrating hard for the magic that was available was weaker than his normal abilities. "They'll have your smile, your hair, Arthur's eyes. They're going to be ever so beautiful."

He was going to have to tell Nusar. The Pendragon family now was only clinging on by a thread, not that they knew it. These twins wouldn't live to have Gwen's smile and hair and Arthur's eyes and they certainly weren't going to be beautiful.

"They'll be brave and loyal and true. Fierce. Kind," Merlin gasped, visions flooding his mind. "They have magic both as strong as each other and they'll use it for good."

"Merlin," Gwen tried to push his hands from her stomach as he spoke the next words.

"And I'm there and I'm teaching them. Why am_ I _teaching them? Oh. By the goddess I'm free. Gwen _I'm free_, but Arthur he's there one second and gone the next but they're not even one summer's old yet. Oh, gods I did it, didn't I? I killed him."

"Merlin!" She said much more forcefully, sending him sprawling as the connection was lost.

Gold flecks still sparkled in his eyes yet so did a vulnerability. Merlin's hands were shaking, redness forming at his wrists, expanding by the second up to the crease at his elbow, intensifying and bubbling at some points. The warlock watched in morbid fascination not even crying out in pain as the bangles glowed molten. Slowly but surely the bangles cooled and red blisters bled back into them much more painfully and yet Merlin still remained quiet, tears pooling. 

"Merlin what are those?" Gwen gasped out; a tentative hand outstretched to her friend.

Merlin shook his head and quickly wiped a stray tear from his injured cheek, the salt stinging the cut. He stood, back ramrod straight and head held high.

"Merlin! They _hurt_ you. Why do you keep them on if they do that?"

"I must bid you a good night my lady. I have to be out early on the training field in the morning," Merlin bowed deeply, never meeting Gwen's eyes.

"What are you- I have more questions. You can't run away from your problems!" Gwen reached the door before Merlin, placing a hand on the wood.

"Please don't make me force my way out," Merlin said, voice small.

"Just- you said you'd killed Arthur. What's going on Merlin? Is he in danger?"

"Yes," he said because it held the truth and Merlin didn't want to lie again to Gwen; his years as Arthur's manservant had been too many.

***

"What did you find out from Queen Guinevere last night?" Nusar asked.

"Twins. They have magic, I think that's what caused the reaction."

"Uther will be turning in his grave," Nusar chuckled and clasped Merlin on the shoulder. "To the field, Sir Knight."

Merlin left his master's side at the edge of the field where they had been watching the Camelot knights joke with one another, a far cry from the comradery displayed in Essetir. Sir Friol, for example, was swishing his sword around paying no attention to his fellow knights (Sir Meyer and Sir Llyor to name a couple, who were laughing at Friol’s expense) rather hoping his exploits would earn him more respect in the eyes of Nusar. The king in question had guffawed at the man's attempts; Merlin had rather exceeded his expectations.

Gwaine noticed the warlock's approach first, his grin somehow growing wider, and he lowered the sword he had been using to spar with Elyan.

"Merlin!" Gwaine exclaimed, the tilt in his accent music to Merlin's ears.

"Sir Gwaine," Merlin replied much more subdued and turned his focus to the other round table knights. "Sirs Elyan, Percival, Leon."

"C'mon mate. You don't have to be so formal with us, you know that," Gwaine pulled Merlin into a hug, slapping him on the back.

"Where's King Arthur? Training should be well under way by now," Merlin stated, drawing his sword from its sheath when he’d subtly shoved Gwaine away using a small amount of magic. 

"Helping the new recruit find a sword most probably," Leon said.

"Or getting waylaid with Gwen," Gwaine winked and was promptly thwacked around the head by Elyan.

"That's my _sister_ you dolt!"

Whilst all the domestics was wonderful to hear after such a long time away, Merlin could sense not only Nusar's eyes glaring a hole in his back but also a good majority of the Esseterian knights. They expected a show, just as Sir Merlin always performed. Well, he wasn't going to disappoint them.

"Who wants to spar then?" Merlin swung his sword around in a move akin to the ones Arthur would pull. "I won't use magic to make it a fair fight."

"Last time I saw you, you couldn't even _lift_ a sword!" Leon exclaimed, drawing his own sword accepting the challenge.

"Because I didn't _need_ one," Merlin said and attacked, sword flying high clanging against Leon's as the knight hurried to block the move. _And last time you saw me I was on my knees pleading for forgiveness, _Merlin thought as he took a couple of paces back. 

Leon's counter-attack came within the next couple of seconds. He jabbed towards Merlin's stomach which Merlin promptly jumped away from spinning round with his momentum, feet landing perfectly for his own attack. He launched himself towards Leon, jolting out to disarm the man but stopping to go as far as to actually wound him - that wouldn't help in Nusar's plans. Leon stood incredulous, sword laying at his feet a couple paces away.

_They should have expected this_, Merlin thought. He'd shown them his exploits of his time away the previous night so why should they stand astounded?

Elyan came next flanked by Percival; Merlin remembered Arthur had begun training the two to attack simultaneously when he'd left. Their stealth and strength complimented each other well even then, but now with more than five years of knighthood under their belt they would be a perilous team. Merlin took it in his stride, eyes darting from Elyan to Percival and back again whilst he planned his first move. Percival was clearly the stronger of the two but Elyan was much more refined with the blade; Arthur had been right in pairing them.

He thwarted them easily in the same lunge a few moments into the fight although he took a blow to the arm from which blood was now pooling. Merlin had breathed sharply at the blade's contact but made no sound - Essetir couldn't afford to look weak, especially with Nusar's tenuous position a year and a half after his usurpation. Nevertheless, the two were disarmed and down in a tangled mess of limbs.

That left just Gwaine. Magic and Strength united once again not in happiness as Merlin had hoped for long ago but in violence. Still, Gwaine laughed throughout and tossed his hair about, ever the dashing rogue.

Brandished steel filled Merlin's senses. The clang of metal, the shine of the blade, and the sweat pouring underneath his mail were notable but Merlin allowed these to fill him up alongside adrenaline, promoting him to make no mistake until Arthur joined the spar. Fighting on the training grounds, however, was a much easier feat than regicide on the tourney.

Gwaine proved a suitable match for Merlin's prowess. The man's affinity for starting bar brawls gave a more ferocious swing and quicker feet which the other knights, although brilliant in form, couldn't match especially against such an accomplished fighter as Merlin. That idea would have been laughable before, but now, well, it was almost expected. After a few good moves on Merlin's behalf, Gwaine fell, astonishment clear on all the original round table knights.

But then, a new opponent, overflowing with strong magic that Merlin had felt before. Mordred. No. _Sir Mordred_, as confirmed by an embellishment at his collar. A despair filled Merlin, one which he hadn't felt in a long time. The druid boy had been destined to kill Arthur so why had he become a knight of Camelot? Merlin's immediate thought was to declare _magic_ and have the boy burn for _daring_ to call himself loyal to his fate. Although, Merlin thought, magic was legal now and Mordred was clearly a trusted friend.

Merlin found himself sprawled on the ground, his thoughts betraying him. The round table knights cheered as laughter filled the air; even still, Merlin could feel the cold anger emanating from Nusar at his wrists. Merlin turned his head to where Friol was last stood - the man was furious, not at Merlin but at Arthur perhaps. Merlin shot him a look that read _don't start anything_. Friol obeyed the senior knight's command.

"Well, you've certainly improved," Arthur commented, appearing above Merlin's head, sun shining brilliantly through his golden locks.

"Your highness," Merlin said, clasping onto Arthur's arm when the king offered it to pull him up.

"I see your first knight has trained you well."

Merlin heard Friol snort.

"Seeing as I am first knight, I'll take that as a compliment, sire."

Arthur laughed as he always did when astounded, something which had mostly been directed at Merlin when he'd done something that no ordinary servant could accomplish. 

"You remember the druid boy, don't you?" Arthur gestured to Mordred who turned from well-meaning ruffles of his hair at the mention of his character.

"Mordred," Merlin said in greeting.

"Emrys," Mordred replied; Merlin could feel the boy probing at the barrier he had placed in his mind.

"Hey! How come we get the titles and he doesn't?" Gwaine shouted.

"He is of magic," Merlin said, loud enough for Nusar to hear. "And he's destined to kill your king so excuse me if I don't want to be friendly to someone capable of freely committing treason."

It was ironic then, that Merlin himself had freely committed treason on numerous occasions, but the reasoning he'd give to Nusar later, comprised of three main points:

One; if the druid boy was destined to kill Arthur then why should they go against destiny, so he could therefore be of use to them. 

Two; when they killed the king any implications of themselves could be blamed on enchantments from the boy.

Three; he could have deflected the punch from Mordred but it was much easier for the other man to create disparity through violence than through words.


	2. Chapter 2

_Three days before banishment. _

There's a softness to Camelot in the dawn that only those awake before the morning bell truly appreciate. The air shimmers as though fairies are about. The water is crisper. The smell, purer. One could almost believe magic played a grander part in the running of the great city.

For those who don't accept magic, this is not the case, but for Merlin everywhere he turned rippled with golden sparks. Gwen, on the other hand, was oblivious to such enchantments, Merlin decided, because while the queen commented on how lovely the morning orange of the sky appeared, she did not once allude to the greatest of all sins (that is, the greatest of all sins within Camelot's borders).

Gwen never had seen the magic as Merlin had, not in the years they had been friends and certainly not as queen, but Merlin would like to keep it that way, thank you very much, otherwise he'd be attached to a pyre in seconds flat, leaving his destiny (known kingdom wide as King Arthur; known to Merlin as utter prat) unattended and most likely dead within the hour.

Destiny could wait, however, for dawn had arrived on the day of Gwen's birthday and the two had traditions to maintain even if royalty shouldn't wander in the forest with a servant. Ever since Merlin had arrived in Camelot six (verging on seven) years prior, and once he had convinced Gwen that he didn't intend to spend his every waking hour in the stocks, the two had walked the worn path through brambles and oak on their respective birthdays.

It was three days after Beltane and so the summer heat was beginning to appear even at such an early hour. Earlier down the trail Merlin had torn off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his tunic; Gwen had done similarly although her long skirts made from thick, expensive material did little to combat the rising heat.

"George has a girl," Merlin said, lifting a tree branch for Gwen.

"A girl? _George_?"

"Yes, a girl. A very pretty one if the back of her head is anything to go by. Very shiny hair."

"Isn’t George a little more interested in polishing?”

"I think the girl is too, you know."

"_Polishing_?" Gwen suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"Gwen!" Merlin said, faux scandalised. "You are the _Queen_ of _Camelot_! And to think what the people would believe if they heard you say things like that." 

"I said no such thing. It's your mind changing my words into things that aren't there," Gwen feigned innocence. "A lady of the court could _never_ even _think _such crass thoughts."

"Ah, but this lady of the court used to be a servant and has been heard saying even more explicit things by the king's personal manservant. _To_ the king's personal manservant. My, what the court would say if they heard!"

Gwen shoved Merlin toward a nearby bramble bush. Merlin stumbled over his own feet but caught himself before he was able to sustain an injury; then he turned and gave Gwen a glare.

"I'm the queen, I can do what I want," Gwen said in response to Merlin's glare.

"The power has gone to your head," Merlin shook his head in mock despondence. "Would you like me to kiss the floor beneath your feet? Or perhaps never look upon your face again?"

"Little bit extreme, Merlin," was Gwen's reply, the queen unable to mask the laughter in her breath. "Arthur would get jealous."

"All the more reason to do it and annoy him.” 

The two laughed, as all must do at the start of a tragedy where they did not know the consequences.

They walked onward and came upon a brook, burbling away secrets as it rushed off towards the sea, which they sat beside continuing their gossip as the sun rose over the canopy. Across the brook lay a smattering of flowers - bluebells -, ever so delicate, blowing in the slight wind. Merlin glanced forwards using magic and saw that the forest floor was carpeted for many miles around, creating a patchwork of purple. 

Merlin hopped over the brook, somehow gracefully much to Gwen’s disappointment, and picked a couple of the flowers from the ground. He turned to Gwen with his makeshift bouquet, grinning wildly which Gwen returned although not as wild. 

“You can get anything you want now,” Merlin started, stepping back over the brook this time. “And I didn’t know what to get you for your birthday - I suspect that you’ll be getting many hairbrushes and sewing needles and string and such from the nobles - but I thought, hey, flowers are fairly acceptable?”

Gwen bit her lip and stared at him with adoration. 

“I mean, they _are_ acceptable? I can get you a hairbrush if you ask.” 

“Oh, Merlin,” she said and pulled him down into a hug, crushing the bluebells slightly.

“So, they’re okay then?” 

“Yes! Of course they’re okay, they’re more than okay.” 

***

“You got Guinevere flowers?” 

“Yes, is that a problem?”

“No, no, not at all.” 

“You want flowers, don’t you?”

Arthur didn’t have an answer for that. He merely thrust his ceremonial sword at Merlin’s face and told him to polish it for that Gwen’s birthday celebration that evening. Merlin wasn't sure whether Arthur actually needed his ceremonial sword, what with life being generally peaceful as there’d been no major attacks on the citadel since Morgana a few months prior, but Merlin accepted the task with a smile akin to a grimace that Arthur returned in jest. 

And with that Merlin’s preparations began in earnest. After polishing said ceremonial sword, the warlock was roped into taste testing for Cook, directing George’s attempts at placing hanging baskets around the Great Hall - which he could have done himself with magic but George _insisted_, and who was to begrudge Merlin’s fun? - and carrying far too many chairs up to the hall all whilst avoiding Arthur’s shouts of _‘Merlin!’ _and the knights’ attempts at helping. The latter of which resulted in Gwaine, of all people, trying to carry four chairs up to the hall in response to Percival carrying three, not falling only by the grace of God (and a little help from magic). 

The day passed quickly, and Merlin didn’t see Arthur until half an hour before the official celebrations were to begin despite Arthur insisting that he needed Merlin at various intervals throughout the day. 

“Where have you been?” Arthur said as Merlin entered the king’s chambers wielding aforementioned ceremonial sword. Arthur stood at his wardrobe grasping at chainmail, apparently unable to dress himself. “You should have been back here an hour ago.” 

“Miss me, did you?” Merlin teased, shutting the door with the back of his foot. 

“No,” said Arthur defensively. 

“If you must know, I was helping with the other servants.”

“Yes, but you’re _my _manservant so you needed to be with me.” 

“I’m also Gaius’ ward and I haven’t even _seen _him today. _And_ I’m a member of your royal household so Cook was all _‘taste this pie Merlin’_ and ‘_do you think the king will like it Merlin_’ and then George wanted to help so I thought Gwen likes flowers let’s do hanging baskets, but then George’s girl came in so I thought better do something else before I see something I shouldn’t,” Merlin said, whilst placing Arthur’s mail over his head, and grabbing his cloak. 

“Wait,” Arthur said, trying and failing to clip the clasp on his cloak together. “George has a _girl?_” 

“Don’t act all surprised, it doesn’t suit you,” Merlin slapped Arthur’s fingers away from the clasp, fastening it with a deft hand. 

“Oh, and what would suit me?”

“A bigger belt.”

Arthur grumbled something about not being fat and how manservants should either be with their king or in the stocks, _never _in the tavern. He also accompanied the grumbling with a goblet to the head, which Merlin skilfully avoided much to Arthur’s chagrin. 

Merlin handed Arthur his belt - making the comment that the belt was just perfect in order to ease the king’s mind - and set about putting the chambers back to rights. How one person could create such a mess as Arthur made throughout the day, was completely beyond Merlin, but such had been the way since Merlin was first drafted into Arthur’s service and so he took it with a pinch of salt (and a grimace when he found a sock shoved into a goblet). 

“Have you seen my comb, Merlin?” 

Merlin threw the comb in Arthur’s general direction, hiding his laughter when he heard a thump and a cry of pain. 

“_Merlin!” _

“Sorry,” Merlin said, not very sorry at all. 

There came a knock at the door. Gwen entered, all serene and beautiful as always, followed by her newest maidservant with particularly shiny hair and a very pretty face. Merlin met Gwen’s eyes, the two sharing a conspiratorial smile, before Gwen made her way over to Arthur who was struggling helplessly with such a menial task as brushing his hair. For a man who could wield a sword as though it were an extension of his arm, for him to flounder at this was most amusing. 

“Are you ready to go?” Gwen asked, removing the comb from Arthur’s hand. 

“Almost,” Arthur said, letting his wife tug the knots from his hair, and leaned into her touch (at which, Merlin felt his heart clench and turned away from the couple, pointedly not looking at George’s girl, fetching the sword before standing awkwardly behind Arthur and Gwen). “Sword, Merlin.”

Merlin handed the sword over, wincing when the king and queen touched lips. And then they were off, Arthur and Gwen in front with Merlin and George’s girl trailing a few feet behind. 

The Great Hall was splendid. Sconces, although not yet lit, aligned the walls with intermittent hanging baskets, filled with bluebells, and pansies, and daffodils. Tapestries in red and gold hung behind the king’s table displaying dragons, the sword from the stone, and the marriage between servant and king. There was space in the middle of the floor for dancing later, accompanied by a small orchestra who were sat in the corner rigorously checking their instruments, such as a thin woman who was checking the strings on her rebec and glancing up every so often.

The nobility and knights were already sat, not yet drinking but still keeping up hearty conversations, except for Gwaine who was enduring a lecture from Geoffrey of Monmouth about the declining use of Latin in text. As king and queen sat, servants began to pour wine and conversations grew in volume, Gwaine finally finding a reason to escape the Latin lecture and engage with Percival about a quest that they could go on the following week to find what Percival claimed was the Holy Grail. 

The night carried on in a similar fashion to other feasts that Merlin had seen whilst in Camelot. Arthur made a speech about how lovely Gwen was, food was brought out (Cook proclaiming that the food had been tasted by the best of the best, to which Arthur gave Merlin a raised eyebrow), and the musicians began to play soon after. Still, the thin woman with the rebec kept glaring at the king and then some more at Merlin, but Merlin paid no heed and was oblivious until her voice sounded in his head. 

_‘Emrys,’ _she said.

_‘Who is this?’ _he asked, feeling a little distraught when he realised that this would probably end the three months of peace. 

_‘It does not matter who I am, Emrys. My people need your help, now more than ever,’ _she said; Merlin finally located her from the crowd, still playing her rebec. 

_‘The druids?’ _

_‘Yes.’ _

_‘Meet me in the throne room in ten minutes. No-one will be in there.’ _

The druid woman nodded, and Merlin made his excuses to Arthur who was paying little attention to anyone but Gwen so gave Merlin a little wave of his hand to excuse him. So much for missing him for the entire day. 

It should be of no surprise to anyone that events turned horribly wrong, but Merlin wanted to be optimistic even as the woman ranted about Merlin choosing the wrong road in which to take the prophecy and included a lot of Morgana’s ideology. If anything, Merlin wasn’t afraid, merely tired and annoyed at people trying to either off him or Arthur.

But then, in a flash of light, several creatures erupted from the shadows. They had the slobbering head of a hound, the sting of a serket, with a body that hugged the ground on small stubby legs. They growled and immediately began circling Merlin, who turned to the druid woman, in disappointment but not in shock because this had happened too many times for it to be a surprise anymore - really, Merlin ought to ask more questions before meeting with so-called-druids by himself. The woman disappeared after giving Merlin a cruel smirk, leaving him to fight the creatures that were beginning to grow more and more adventurous. 

And to think, Arthur thought Merlin spent half his life in the tavern. 

***

The last creature went down without much of a fight without the strength of its siblings to pull on. It exploded, much like the others, into fine magical dust, the motes ethereal and glittering as all such creatures of magic tend to do, a trait Merlin had often wondered would befall him when the time came to jump in front of a sword (forged in a dragon's breath) for Arthur. Nevertheless, the creatures were gone, leaving only a twinge of magic and one very exhausted warlock.

And one very furious king who Merlin hadn't noticed standing in the shadows, hand clenched into a fist and betrayal sinking deep into his heart. Next to Arthur stood Leon who's slack jaw pointed to the obvious conclusion that the first knight was not expecting Merlin of all people to have magic. Merlin saw this all in an instant after a moment of heavy breathing curled on the floor; well, this wasn't going to end with the ban on magic being lifted.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered, slowly standing, hands raised in a placating gesture; when Arthur flinched, Merlin lowered them and came to his full height. "This isn't what it looks like."

"_Sorcerer_!" Arthur hissed as though his tongue was of venom.

_Well_, thought Merlin, _this is exactly what it looks like. _

Leon stepped into action, jaw closing with an audible click followed by the drawing of his sword that came to rest pointed towards Merlin's neck. The warlock took a step backwards and then more when the sword and Leon followed until he was pressed against a wall, magic bubbling just below the surface of his skin.

"Arthur," he tried again, appealing to the friend he'd thought he'd had in the king.

Arthur didn't respond and so the three stood in silence for a minute longer, tension filling every recess of the throne room as magic had done throughout the night.

"Arthur, please-"

"One more word and I'll run you through where you stand," Leon said ferociously; the man had a mad glint in his eye. Oh yes, he had been Uther's knight first and a danger to magic, a danger to what all Merlin stood for.

"Arrest him. Take him to the dungeons" Arthur said, cold, words measured and clipped.

"No, Arthur, you have to listen to me," Merlin said, fear pooling in his gut as he made little effort to resist Leon's rough hands pulling his arms behind his back, securing his wrists. "Arthur!"

"Make sure the sorcerer has three guards stationed outside the cell. No-one from the round table."

"Just let me talk to you!"

"Chained with no room to escape."

"_Please_."

"No doubt he's enchanted the dungeons to help sorcerers."

"_Arthur_!"

"You do not get to call me by that name!" Arthur whirled around, teeth bared, looking rather feral for someone named king.

"Since when have I actually listened to you?!" Merlin retorted; in response Leon tightened his grip on Merlin's arms. 

"Since you revealed you're a _sorcerer_!"

It echoed throughout the throne room, _that _word in _that_ tone which Merlin had been afraid of since he'd stepped foot into Camelot, since he'd regarded Arthur with friendship. It was betrayal and heartache, though Merlin was not sure who should be feeling such emotions, but even so it wrapped around his soul, around his magic, and pulled. Merlin suddenly felt nothing.

"Dungeons, as I said. I'll deal with this in the morning."

Arthur left the room, footsteps near silent as though he were out on a hunt; with him followed Merlin's very being. Rejection. Such a fickle thing.

Leon pushed at his back, urging him forward though Merlin would rather stand still and listen to the tearing of his magic and his soul. Nevertheless, he was forced onward at the mercy of a knight and a king whom he'd once called friends. He still could call them as such if Arthur came to his senses. Merlin just had to persuade him and show him that magic could be used for good; that magic wasn't inherently evil.

He thought of all the things he'd ever done for Arthur. Although Merlin did not feel as if he were a good man, he thought his actions must have alluded to some semblance of good. If they did not then his life was for naught for what is the point in guiding a man towards good when one isn't necessarily sure what good is? But still. Even the awful things he had done were to guide Arthur and Albion towards a better outcome.

But what good was good now when Arthur looked at him like he was scum.

***

Dungeons oft gave time for one to think, for there was not much else to do in dungeons than befriend a rat or ponder. Despite what Arthur said, Merlin did have a brain and one that was rather brilliant at the art of wondering amongst other things.

Namely Merlin thought about how Arthur would kill him - pyre, beheading, or hanging? All ways in which Merlin had seen sorcerers executed in the past; all ways in which Merlin would rather not die; all ways in which Merlin didn't think he'd actually be able to be killed. He had an excellent record for not dying thus far when he probably should have, such was the life of Emrys.

No matter. It's a child that fears the dead.

Arthur would ask for all that he had done as a sorcerer and Merlin would not refuse him, would paint himself as immoral as the court would want him to be. 

_A sorcerer at the heart of Camelot_, they'd say, _claiming the Prince turned King and implanting his foul ideology making the green one red. And oh, how he'd fooled them by playing the fool, the bumbling idiot always with a smile on his face that must have turned to a smirk or grimace when their backs had turned. He'd listened in on state matters, aligned himself with the Queen, and brought in the King's closest knights, enveloping them all and asserting his claim as confidant which a servant should never have_.

_And wasn't he close to Morgana_? they'd ask with quivering hands clutching at gemstones and rubies sewn into their cloaks. _Didn't they have a romance_? they'd mutter with furrowed brow almost conspiring, _hadn't they sired the Druid Boy_ (whom Arthur mentioned from time to time) _who had been found in Morgana's chambers_? They'd see him as a threat to all Uther had done and to all Arthur should do.

Merlin the Sorcerer, not Servant any longer.

It was cold in the dungeon which wasn't unusual but still unexpected in the early summer dawn. Merlin sagged against the back wall, knees snug against his chest and looking quite solemn and sad. He'd royally upset the balance of the castle, upended nature, and left an insomniac in his wake who appeared to murder sleep as he had done with all things most precious.

Four guards were stationed outside and although none were from the original round table, they were all kind men who Merlin knew by name. He'd seen them ill and sweating, calling out for Gaius. He'd seen them bleeding out on the battlefield, calling out for Arthur. He was sure he'd see them in his final hours, calling out for a painful death for prejudice reigned supreme. Even so, they were kind men with families who protected Camelot and for that Merlin was grateful. For Arthur to be surrounded by such kindness even after Merlin was gone (because Merlin would have to go no matter what) was a blessing in of itself.

Arthur rounded the corner, clad in his white tunic - they were to do this as equals, then - but still ever the royal. Still, ever beautiful. The guards inclined their heads respectfully.

"Leave us," he said, clear and true and strong.

They did so, sharing concerned glances but unable to disobey. Arthur pulled his keys off his belt, slowly combing through the metals with uncertainty framing his brow; Merlin knew which key it was, Arthur had gone past it two times already. Finally, Arthur placed the key in the lock, it's mechanism frighteningly loud and disturbing the tense peace the two had established. Arthur stepped into the cell and stood mere feet away. Stillness.

Arthur's jaw worked clenching and unclenching twice. He swallowed and Merlin watched as his Adam's apple bobbed.

"Get up."

Merlin did so, hands hanging uselessly at his side pulled downwards by links upon links of chain that pooled at his feet and looped round to connect to a hoop on the wall behind him. Arthur's jurisdiction.

"How long?"

Merlin's breath hitched.

"A couple of weeks? Months?" 

Oh by the goddess he could not lie but in speaking truth he'd break Arthur's heart.

"_Longer_?" Arthur had noticed Merlin's hesitation. "What then? A _year_?"

Merlin silently pleaded with every deity out there and even to Arthur himself to not let him say this. It would make Arthur question his every move, every good deed the man had ever committed - what could solely be claimed as Arthur's victory since Merlin's arrival? The knights, the Queen, the very foundations of the city had held strong by Merlin's will alone and once Arthur realised that then he would be devastated and doubt all he had achieved.

"Merlin!"

Merlin snapped his attention back to Arthur who'd ventured even closer now only a breath away.

"How long?"

"All my life."

A pause.

"_What_?"

"I was born with it."

And then, very suddenly, Arthur's fist connected with Merlin's cheekbone, Ygraine's family ring fulfilling an excellent job of cutting into skin and drawing blood.

"How dare you lie to me!" Arthur roared, not allowing Merlin to collapse on the ground by shoving him to the wall, fingers tangled in his neckerchief. "How _dare_ you!"

Merlin could taste iron on his tongue and could feel it dripping down his cheek. His breath kept catching in his lungs and they quickly became shallow, harsh, shuddering, almost nauseating to hear each inhale and exhale. And there was Arthur, so close with breath warm and mingling with Merlin's own, yet his face was contorted into hatred, more feral than handsome. He almost looked like Uther; just replace the golden with grey, the smooth with wrinkled, the legend with nightmare.

Yes. Father and son and daughter were so very similar.

"After everything," Arthur said, almost a whisper. "And you _lie_."

"I have had magic for as long as I can remember," Merlin choked out between breaths. "But I use it for you, Arthur, only for you." And Merlin thought that if he were to have revealed his magic in any other way, he would still have turned to a blubbering mess, with a tone that would suit a child more than it would a man. 

"No, you're lying. I would have known," Arthur's fingers grew tighter around Merlin's neckerchief, pulling at the knot. "I _would_. So, tell me, how long? It can't be more than a month; you wouldn't be able to keep that big of a secret from me."

Merlin said nothing and allowed Arthur to come to his own conclusion. It dawned on the king and Arthur's fingers released themselves from their hold, palm now flat against Merlin's chest, a few digits resting over a collarbone.

"Has everyone I ever trusted betrayed me?" Arthur said quite plainly, hand still planted on the sorcerer's chest; Merlin was sure that Arthur could feel the rapid beat of his heart.

"I would _never_."

So Arthur ploughed his fist into Merlin's nose, ring slicing into the bridge hard enough to scar. And then once more for good luck.

***

There was something familiar about the congregation in the throne room. As Merlin was walked down the centre aisle dodging the eyes of the servants, knights, and councillors he realised that it was starkly similar to the gathering that had faced Gwen all those months ago. When Merlin glanced toward her, it was clear she remembered too; or more rather she was confused as to why Merlin of all people was being paraded about in chains.

The only man Merlin searched for was Gaius, willing his mentor to give him a familiar glare and then to proclaim to Arthur _there's been a terrible mistake sire, Merlin is oft an absolute fool - did you know he spends most of his life in the tavern? - and what you saw can't possibly have been magic even if Merlin did admit to it but sire, as I'm sure you're well aware, Merlin is an idiot, a buffoon, and above all other things, a stupid, stupid boy_. But Gaius didn't appear with those words and soon a sick feeling ran through down Merlin’s throat settling at the bottom of his gut - Arthur wouldn't hurt Gaius on Merlin's behalf, would he? No. No of course he wouldn't. The physician was just as much as a father to Arthur as he was to Merlin.

Gaius hadn't been escorted to the dungeons, of that Merlin was quite assured. Any noise down there was remarkably echoey and Merlin hadn't heard anyone enter or exit since that morning after Arthur's rather _pleasant _visit. But a lot could happen in a day, especially one so long as that day had been for now it was nearing on late evening and Gaius _could_ be roasting on a pyre somewhere in the city.

But a curl of white hair appeared in Merlin's vision, not where the two would usually stand during any kind of gathering such as this, rather on the opposite side of the room, hovering in the servant's entrance seemingly on the verge of escape. Gaius' face was weary, even more so when he looked fully upon Merlin and his face of which the wound upon his nose was still weeping and thus likely to scar. Well, at least the man wasn't burning just yet.

Merlin held onto his bravado until he was forced onto his knees in front of Arthur, the chains clanging harshly against the stone. He had told himself that he wouldn’t cry, that he wouldn’t show any weakness because he had already done that in the cell earlier, but now faced with all these people whom he knew, who knew him, he felt an overwhelming surge of emotion overtake him. _This _was what he had feared for so long, and whilst the man of nightmares had always worn Uther’s face (not Arthur, _never _Arthur), it was too similar to all that he had imagined. He could almost taste the ash from the pyre, hear the axe swing, and feel the rope taught around his neck.

“I stand here today in the face of what I may call the greatest betrayal,” Arthur began, making Merlin’s heart sour at the words. “This man, whom many of you will know as my manservant, has committed the greatest crime within Camelot’s walls. He is a sorcerer and has been so since he first stepped foot into the city under my father’s reign. Merlin of Ealdor, what say you?”

This was it. The chance Merlin had to say all the things he had longed to say, to let Arthur and everyone here know just what he had done and what he had sacrificed for Camelot. _No. _For Arthur. He could tell them about destiny, about dragons who spoke in strange riddles, and about druids who claimed that Merlin was to bring about the change to the five kingdoms that would be talked about for millennia. The change that legends were made from.

“I use it for you,” Merlin said, looking at Arthur intently forcing eye contact. “And you know that.”

“You lied.”

“Well, he wasn’t about to go parading it about in the streets of _Camelot, _was he?”

“Sir Gwaine hold your tongue!!”

“Think about it, if _you_ had magic would you tell the Prince of Camelot whose father just happened to start the Great Purge?” 

“I am your _king_!” 

“It's _Merlin_, for God’s sake!” 

“He's a _sorcerer_!” 

“He's your _friend_!”

“Gwaine!” Merlin shouted; the two men turned towards him, both fuming and raring for a fight. 

“You know I only follow him because of you,” Gwaine said, chest heaving. 

Merlin did not dare reply because Arthur looked as though he were about to throttle somebody. 

“Arthur, surely there's been a mistake,” Gwen implored; neither king nor warlock spoke which gave an answer in itself. “Merlin?” 

“If I am to tell you everything, which I think you deserve, then I have conditions,” Merlin began hesitantly. 

“Conditions?” Arthur said, tone dark and sarcastic. 

“Yes, _conditions_,” Merlin replied. “You do not go after my mother, you leave Gaius alone, and you think about all I have lost for you.” 

“I don't think you're in the best place to be making conditions, _Merlin_.” 

“I think he has every right,” said Gwaine. “I like the colouring you added to his face, Sire, very expressive.”

“For the last time, Sir Gwaine-” 

“And you'll even leave him with a neat little scar to remember you by, how nice of you,” Gwaine sneered. “That is, if you don’t burn him.” 

“That is _enough!” _

“But I will be the first to pull him off the pyre, although I think Percy will be right behind me. Oh, imagine if Lance were still with us and not galivanting with the dead, ooh, _princess_, you'd be without queen and servant.” 

Silence. A collective intake of breath from the gathered council. Then an exhale. And once more for good luck. 

“You go too far, Gwaine,” Arthur stepped from his throne and was about to draw his sword when - 

“She was enchanted,” Merlin said. “Gwen, you were enchanted and Lance was a Shade and I tried to warn you or to get Arthur to listen but then you were gone and I couldn't do anything about it-” 

“Everyone out,” Gwen said, chest heaving under her corset. “The round table stays.” 

There were mutterings from the old Lords, including Geoffrey of Monmouth who looked as though he were about to make a complaint, but with a wave of Arthur’s hand the congregation went slowly but willingly. Heads turned back towards the stoic king ever so often as they trailed out, speculation alight in their gazes that would turn to court gossip in the morning. There was silence from the round table until the guards had respectfully closed the grand doors behind them, leaving a tense feeling in the group of dear friends. 

“I’m not going to kill him,” Arthur said, more focused on Gwaine than any other. “I wouldn’t.”

_Glad to know that, Sire, _Merlin felt like saying and would say if he weren’t in chains and kneeling. 

“I _couldn’t_.” 

“That’s wonderful and all, but again I have to mention the great big bloody gash on his face,” Gwaine said. 

“He’s a sorcerer, Arthur took precautions and deemed as he saw fit,” Leon said, speaking up for the first time with tone plain and open. 

“But surely that doesn’t warrant a beating?” Elyan stressed, looking toward Gwen as if to ask if she agreed.

“He’s dangerous! If you saw what we saw last night you’d be asking for more than those chains!” Leon exclaimed. 

“_Merlin_ is not dangerous,” Gwaine took a step toward Leon, hand gliding over the hilt of his sword, a threat in every aspect. 

“No, the Merlin we knew is not dangerous, but he’s not that man!” Arthur said, causing Gwaine’s head to swivel towards his king, murder alighting in his eyes. 

“Sire, if I may,” began Gaius without pausing for Arthur to answer. “Merlin is still the same person.”

“Yes, and I bet you knew about all of this didn’t you? Fooling us all and laughing about it behind our backs?!” Arthur sneered, his face contorting into ugliness. 

“Arthur!” Merlin shouted, disgust rippling through his body at his king’s contempt for the old man who they both saw a father in. 

“_Shut up!” _Arthur shouted without the familiarity that he oft used. 

Merlin did so allowing silence to reign. 

“He’s had magic for his whole life, that’s what he said. He’s lied to me, he’s lied to _all of us_, just his existence here condemns him! What would you have me do?” Arthur asked too much from his round table who were devoted and loyal not only to their king but to Merlin as well; Merlin had formed the round table, had brought the closest of the knights in, and gained their loyalty much faster than Arthur had gained theirs, all with the exception of Leon. 

“Why don’t we talk to him?” Gwen suggested. “And allow him to explain which I’m not sure you did, Arthur.”

The knights murmured in agreement; Merlin was glad of their support. 

“From the beginning, if you would Merlin,” said Gwen who pulled Arthur back to his seat with a glare. 

“Well,” Merlin said, wringing his hands. “That all depends on what you class as the beginning, really.” 

“And what would _you _class as the beginning?” said Arthur. 

“Uther’s coronation?” Merlin suggested. 

Gwaine choked on his laughter and was sent a scowl from Arthur. 

“Maybe he could say the simple things,” Percival said, always with a cool and calculated mind. 

“I think you'll find that simple isn't really simple when it comes to Merlin,” said Gaius. 

“Thank you for the support, Gaius,” Merlin said. 

“Go on then. _Start simply_,” said Arthur. 

“Well, then,” Merlin cleared his throat. “You've heard of Emrys and how he's the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth?” 

Everyone nodded; Gaius merely sighed at Merlin’s dramatics. 

“Hello.” 

Suffice to say, everything went a little bit downhill after that. 

***

Merlin looked up at the great city, it's walls no longer welcoming but hideous in the dawn with a foul air that encompassed it and a wild magic that fizzed and sparked in his peripheral vision. This place held nothing for Merlin anymore, not with his bruised and devastated heart.

He sent a final message to Arthur then.

Merlin's hold over the wind and rain served him well as the warlock warped the soft clouds into something much more vicious. The cloud dragon leapt from the sky and whipped around the tower that held Arthur's chambers. It breathed mist in place of smoke as it reared its mighty head before letting out a thunderous roar which held all of Merlin's anguish and despair.

Arthur had angered the old religion once again.

"Merlin! Wait up."

Merlin's focus fell from the clouds; the dragon dissipated and Merlin's gaze fell upon Gwaine. The man in question had somehow managed a grin, visible from even beyond the first line of trees. Gwaine reached Merlin quickly, the latter confused as to why Gwaine had followed him and dressed not in armour but in the tunic and trousers that he had once worn in a bar brawl. He still grasped a sword but it was the grin that made him look manic.

"Well then, where are we off to?"

Merlin raised his brow and said, with an incredulous undertone. "We? As in _together_?"

"Exactly!" Gwaine slung an easy arm around the warlock's shoulders, beginning to lead them away from the castle. "Where to then? There are some lovely taverns in Mercia although Carleon does hold its fair share of maidens."

"No." Merlin shoved the arm from its rest. "No, Gwaine. You're staying here. You're not coming with me."

"Why not? You'd get killed by a pheasant before the day is through!"

Merlin's eyes flared gold and the air around them began to shimmer.

"Okay so maybe you wouldn't get killed but my point is you're going to be _awful lonely_. And you're my best friend, the first I ever had."

"Gwaine," Merlin sighed.

"Look, if you're going to Ealdor and you're worried about the lack of taverns I'm sure I'll manage. I can grow barley; I've done it before."

"Like I could go to Ealdor," Merlin said, a dark bite to his words that had hardly been present before.

"Of course you'd go there, why -"

"It's in Camelot!" 

"I'm pretty sure it's in Essetir, mate," Gwaine said.

"The borders changed when Lot came into power. Ealdor is firmly in Camelot!"

"I'm sure Arthur wouldn't mind you going home."

"_Camelot_ was my home,” Merlin scoffed. “Anyway, the first placed he'd look is Ealdor and I can't risk my mother like that."

"Merlin," Gwaine said softly. "Look, we'll make our own home, just you and me. Run a tavern somewhere where you can be you with all your magic. And we won't have to think of this place again, I promise."

A lull, and then:

"He's my _destiny_, Gwaine. I can't just forget about him. But what's all that worth when I get _this_, eh?" Merlin gestured to his bag. "I'm not going to forget _him_, I'm not going to forget _this_. After all I've done and he'll not give me the courtesy of a quick end."

"I'm coming with you."

"Why!?" Merlin shouted, his voice cracking. "I've lied to you for years! I'm a sorcerer. I've _murdered_! I turned Morgana against us and I killed Uther and I've gone against the old religion so many times I've begun to wonder why I'm Emrys!"

"I'm your _friend_."

"I don't have friends."

"Yes you do! I'm here!" Gwaine met Merlin's volume then, arms gesticulating wildly.

"You need to leave me be!" Merlin began to walk once again at such a speed that his legs already began to ache with the strain.

"I can't do that," Gwaine grasped Merlin by the shoulder, meeting the warlock's ferocious, mad visage with his own calm one. "You know I can't."

The magic ran wild underneath Merlin's skin. His jaw clenched as he tried to clamp down on it.

"Get your hand off me," Merlin said, cool and dangerous.

"Or what?" Gwaine challenged and placed another hand on Merlin's other shoulder.

"Sir Knight, I do not want to hurt you."

"I don't think you have it in you," Gwaine murmured, his face so close Merlin could feel his breath; stale with the tang of mead, sweet with the essence of fresh pastries.

Merlin's eyes glinted dangerously. Not the gold of a sorcerer nor the madness of a man possessed, they stayed miraculously blue but turned cold, more like biting ice than a soft summer's day. Destiny heralded a cruel man in the place of a once loving boy, though Merlin was unsure of whom it could have warped so freely; the king or the sorcerer? Or both, as though time itself mocked them in the face of the once and future king.

"Are you willing to risk that?" he asked and prised Gwaine's hands from his shoulders. "I would not test me today; I have lost almost everything."

"Exactly. You still have _me_."

And for once in his life Gwaine was earnest, a trait that only appeared when he and Merlin were alone.

"I need you to _stay here_-"

"_No_. What you _need_ Merlin is a _friend_!" Gwaine shouted. "I'm _here_! For God's sake, I've known about the magic for years! I don't care! Just let me in for once. I'm your friend!"

"I don't have friends, they just get hurt or killed or they banish me or-"

“Just because Arthur couldn’t accept you doesn’t mean that you have to be without people you care about. You know what? Screw him! Screw him and all the things that preached about destiny. He’s a royal arse and deserves everything that’s coming to him!”

“Don’t _say _that!” Merlin could feel the magic – _Arthur’s _magic – bubble to the surface.

“It’s true and you know it is!”

“I know he’s,” Merlin shoved the magic down but it just reappeared again. “I know he can be cruel and _this _shows it. But I love him.”

Gwaine stilled.

“I _do. _I _love _him and I know I shouldn’t, hell, even the great dragon says that our destinies are not linked in that way, but I _do!_ I _still_ love him.”

Gwaine stood slack jawed and eyes wide.

“So, I need you to _stay here_.”

“No.”

So Merlin released the magic and launched Gwaine into a tree where he crumpled on impact. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Three years after banishment. _

A palpable fear had filled Merlin ever since he had set foot in Camelot again, his worlds colliding in such a way that there had to be an explosion on the horizon. In his truest of hearts, the only acceptable conclusion was his death in exchange for Arthur's but the most likely was to be the opposite - Arthur was going to die by Merlin's hand. Merlin's gut clenched at the thought.

No. No matter. This was Merlin's destiny, fate, whatever and it led in the direction of the destruction of his friend.

An hour before dawn on the third morning since the Incident on the Training Field (capitalised at Merlin’s will), Merlin traipsed round the castle, taking the scenic route toward the armoury. He had oft found himself doing so in the time he'd been back in Camelot, especially since the other monarchs of the five kingdoms had begun to arrive, many of whom would recognise him on sight for slaughtering their best fighters, and even heirs, when he'd thrown down various gauntlets the previous summer.

Today, Rodor of Nemeth was due to arrive, and he didn't want to encounter either the king or Mithian. Somehow, he had avoided Annis and Bayard thus far, but with the Feast of Champions fast approaching, Merlin knew he was on borrowed time. He wouldn't doubt it if the majority of monarchs raised their swords and struck him down for many of their people he had defeated - not murdered,_ never murdered_ for that thought would not settle in his gut - had been heirs to now unstable thrones. He'd stop them because Nusar would wish it so, but even if he somehow obtained a mortal blow, Merlin would find himself waking but a moment later and probably having an awkward conversation with Arthur.

Oh, _goddess_. Arthur.

Merlin had seen him in passing, never stopping to converse with the man or instead busying himself by looking the pinnacle of elusive. Every time, Arthur had averted his eyes. The two were playing the same game of avoidance, one which had been commonplace but now seemed cold. And it was making Merlin miserable, to say the least.

He'd taken it out on his knights, calling for a training session every day at dawn drilling formations and cursing when he realised that the knights with magic had been left in Essetir to protect the castle. Friol was being an idiot as usual but Llyor and Meyer more than made up for his incompetence managing to disarm the rogue knight, if one could call him such.

No matter. Merlin would remove such an attitude before returning to Essetir; within the month Friol would be competent; within the year Friol would be a close friend and trusted ally; within the next eighteen months Friol would be dead. And the cycle would repeat.

Merlin watched the sun rise from the battlements, a place within the castle where the warlock had spent many a time as a servant when he'd wanted to escape from his destiny for a moment. That was in the early years. As time wore on, Arthur had found where Merlin wandered off to occasionally and Merlin had been unable to avoid his destiny no more.

Especially when so-called destiny had a penchant for annoying him when he really wasn't in the mood. 

"Do you remember the last time we were here together?" Arthur asked after dawdling near Merlin for a good two minutes. "Just after I'd pulled the sword from the stone, after the battle. And do you remember what you said?"

Merlin looked at Arthur. The king too was leaning against the stonework like Merlin and staring out into the city below, or rather past the city and into the forest beyond. He seemed tired.

"Yes," Merlin said because he did.

"You said that no matter what was thrown at us next, be it more battles or trying to organise for the winter grain stores, you'd be right next to me," Arthur sighed and closed his eyes. "I didn't think you having magic would be our next battle."

Merlin felt his gut clench and, despite the reluctance clawing away at his heart and mind, said:

"I must be going, your majesty. My knights are expecting me."

He took a couple of steps before Arthur said with accusation lacing his tone;

"You can't keep running off like this.”

“It’s not running.”

“Then what is it then?”

Merlin did not dignify Arthur with a response and left the king stood over his battlements, who, despite the gentle caress of the sun’s first rays, was beginning to grow weary of the ways of the world.

Merlin continued on his way to the armoury. The castle was waking up, blinking away the sleepy caress of darkness and adventuring into a new day. Merlin dodged around servants and the occasional noble but soon reached his destination where he found his knights already in their mail and sharpening their swords, blatantly ignoring the figure on the other side of the room. 

Mordred sat on a bench sharpening his own sword. When Merlin entered, the younger sorcerer looked up with such innocence that Merlin couldn’t avoid talking to him for much longer. He sent his knights out onto the field without him, entrusting them to complete the drills without merely sparring all morning. Merlin let silence fall for a few moments and then turned to Mordred. 

“You’ve grown,” he said, making his way over to his own sword and whetstone and sat on the bench opposite Mordred. 

“I was a boy when you saw me last.” 

“You still look like a boy, for the most part.” 

Mordred gave a hesitant smile. 

“The other day, I’m sorry for what I said. It wasn’t very noble of me.” 

“I’m sorry I hit you.”

“Well, you did say that you’d make me pay,” Merlin smiled a true smile. “And I shouldn’t believe what dragons tell me.” 

“Even so, I didn’t think.”

“Neither did I.” 

The two sat for a moment in companionable silence, the kind where friendships begin to blossom and alliances are made. Merlin finished sharpening his blade first, years of practice when under Arthur and now as first knight making the motions easy, and let the hilt rest neatly in the palm of his hand as he continued to watch Mordred’s remarkably unrigid movements for such a green knight.

“Listen, me and my knights are going to the tavern later, The Rising Sun? Do you know it?” 

Mordred nodded. 

“Wonderful. Meet us there where there’ll be a tankard with your name on it. Paid for by yours truly,” Merlin stood and clasped Mordred’s shoulder. 

“Thank you,” Mordred said, looking up at the older man, eyes shining with belief and trust. 

“You fight well. We could do with someone like you down in Beormingahám.” 

Mordred stuttered a word or two that was incomprehensible before finally settling on: “My place is here. In Camelot. But thank you, Emrys.” 

“Merlin, call me Merlin.” 

“Merlin,” Mordred echoed with clear adoration. 

The boy would prove useful either as a scapegoat or as an ally. But there was something tugging at Merlin’s mind, guilt perhaps, because he’d ruined this boy’s life so many times before and for Merlin to engage the druid in something such as this, such as _treason, _it would surely end in Mordred’s demise. 

Mordred didn’t seem like the sort of person who would wilfully do such a thing as Merlin had done many times before; his heart was too pure and his demeanour was much too truthful. He’d go tell Arthur immediately if he knew of Nusar’s plans. Yet, if destiny would have the druid kill Arthur, then destiny may do so and force Merlin’s hand into open conflict. 

And yet, destiny had been thrown off course so many times - if Merlin were to remember rightly, then Morgana and Mordred should have made an alliance before she died; Merlin should have been in Camelot to bring about the change in laws on magic; and Arthur should be high king of all Albion by now, or he should at least have been looking into it not leaving the conquering and such to Nusar. So, destiny should and could not be trusted, that Merlin knew for certain, but to blame destiny for all his transgressions was gladly done. How easy was it then? Blame Mordred, go back to Essetir, back to Beormingahám, and live once more as a slave to a man longing for power. 

Wasn’t Arthur just the same? Merlin hadn’t forgotten how Arthur had angered the old religion in the past. How Arthur had harmed a friend. How Arthur wanted to claim the whole of Albion for himself. 

No matter. 

“You should get going. Your knights will be waiting for you,” Mordred said, standing from the bench. 

“They can wait a little longer, I think. It keeps them on their toes,” Merlin forced a laugh that didn’t sound forced, a skill learnt from the time spent at Nusar’s side. 

Mordred grinned, his shyness now escaping him. 

“Anyway, how did you end up back in Camelot? I thought you’d have wanted to stay well away,” Merlin asked, reaching for Mordred’s sword and held it up to the light, inspecting its design. 

“Arthur sought me out. He asked for the druid boy he’d once saved. I was up North at the time in Hen Ogledd, mercenary stuff, that kind of thing. I met a druid clan; they said the king who accepted magic was looking for me. I thought they meant you at first, but,” Mordred trailed off, uncertain again. “And then when I got here, he asked me if I’d seen you at all, if I’d heard about anything.” 

“And what did you say?” Merlin asked, glancing away from the sword. 

“What you told Iseldir.”

“Good,” Merlin lowered Mordred’s sword and let his eyes scan across the assorted weaponry before resting on Excalibur herself. “Doesn't the magic draw you to her?” 

“Not really, no. I can sense it but it's not, well, it's not-” 

“Enticing?” 

“Yes, I mean no, I mean - I know there's magic in it, strong magic, but it doesn't make me feel anything.”

Merlin threw Mordred’s sword to his palm, confident that Mordred’s magic if not his skill would catch it. He looked upon Excalibur, the etchings in the metal looked almost brand new, and felt the magic pull at his very being, all the way through his skills as dragonlord to superior mage. The bangles burned at the foreign magic, rejecting its presence and forcing it out of Merlin’s blood where it had begun to surge. 

“Do you know how she was formed?”

“Dragon’s breath.” 

Merlin hummed his appraisal then turned back to Mordred. 

“Time to get my knights into shape. They’ll have started hitting one another with sticks by now. I’ll see you tonight? The Rising Sun, don’t forget.” 

Just before Merlin left the armoury, Mordred shouted out to him. 

“The white dragon, did you ever find her?” 

“Yes,” Merlin said because he did.

***

All taverns were more or less the same. Sticky tables, the odd promiscuous looking woman (or man, if one looked closely enough), and enough ale to entice or drown a priest. The songs were bawdy. The food salty. And yet, there was something about taverns that drew in a mixture of crowds. Here and there, one could see a knight laughing with a peasant, something which in normal circumstances would rarely happen.

_The Rising Sun _was light, surprisingly, the opposite to the many taverns Merlin had stepped foot in over the years - maybe because Merlin had never actually been into this particular tavern, no matter what Arthur had claimed. Little fire creatures - gryphons and horses when Merlin looked closer - galloped across the walls and crawled along people’s arms or hair. They didn’t set anything alight, but gave the room a warm glow and cast pleasant shadows. The tables were mostly full, customers giggling into their cups, whist barmaids gladly filled any that fell empty. 

A warm patch on his shoulder. Merlin’s magic flew to the surface to blast the foreign magic away. He looked, and there, sniffing curiously, was a foal made of fire, its burning mane flowing and eyes glinting curiously. Merlin stared at it in amazement as it was joined by a baby gryphon, clearly the foal’s friend, who nudged the foal and chased it around Merlin’s neck and down his other arm before they ran off to another patron who pet the creatures. Merlin had never seen anything like it; oh yes, he had conjured a horse from smoke before but never from fire and never so many at once. Camelot must have attracted strong sorcerers. 

He saw Friol, Meyer, and Llyor sat in a darkened corner and strode over to join them, pausing at the bar to buy two tankards of mead. He greeted them cordially enough but kept out of their conversations for the most part only humming in warning when they said something that bordered on treasonous (to Nusar, that is). Sipping his mead, Merlin found himself glancing at other customers, wondering whether they would accept the new kingship or protest in open rebellion, something that would be suppressed easily at Nusar’s will. 

Friol nudged at Merlin’s shoulder and inclined his head towards the door. Merlin followed his knight’s gaze. Mordred stood at the entrance, slightly to the left of the door, face cast in shadows by the fire creatures. He still wore his chainmail, but had no sword on him only a dagger hidden away in his boot which Merlin found easily enough. The boy had a smile playing at his lips which grew when a couple of the creatures leapt upon his arms and settled down for sleep. 

“Mordred!” Merlin called, jovially enough, and then pointed to the second tankard when Mordred finally noticed his waving arms. 

“Thank you, Merlin,” Mordred said when he’d settled at the table and taken his first sip. 

Introductions were made, alliances were started, and the night wore on. Everything was going smoothly and Merlin could see his task getting easier. That is until Camelot knights entered and spotted Mordred chatting with, technically, those who could be considered his enemies. So, Gwaine only did what was natural and decided to sit at the same table, with the widest grin Merlin thought he’d ever seen. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, as he sat down, jostling the table a tad so that Friol’s cup spilt slightly. 

“Sir Gwaine,” Merlin said, clearing the spillage with a flash of gold. 

“Hello, Mordred!” Gwaine said, grabbing Mordred’s tankard and taking a swig for himself. 

“Gwaine,” Mordred offered his greetings politely, but yanked the tankard from Gwaine’s prying fingers.

The easiness of Merlin’s task was quickly fading away, the fragile friendship he’d created disappearing before his very eyes. 

There was a scraping sound behind him and Merlin found Elyan and Percival dragging another table across. They were bickering as they did so until Leon gave each of them a quick scuff about the head and instructed them to lift the table instead of dragging. It worked a little better after that. 

Merlin sighed and drained his cup. 

“So, my favourite sorcerer - no offence Mordred - we were wondering how the hell you managed first knight, and by ‘we’, I mean Arthur and by ‘wondering’, I mean demanding,” Gwaine said as his fellow round table knights sat themselves down. 

“Didn’t you see that for yourselves out on the training field,” Friol said, sensing Merlin’s hesitance. 

“Are you a sorcerer?” Gwaine asked Friol, who barely got a word in before Gwaine went off again. “Do I like you? No. And I wasn’t talking to you. So, Merlin, princess requires an explanation-”

“Why can’t he come down here and ask himself?” Meyer queried. “That is, if you are talking about King Arthur and not some fair maiden you’ve debased.”

“What’s the difference?” Llyor added; the three Esseterian men guffawed while Merlin forced a smile. 

The round table knights all turned cold, their backs going rigid and faces contorting into scowls. Mordred sat, uncomfortable, but made no move to speak up. 

“Control your men!” Leon’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. 

“They are doing no harm,” Merlin said, feigning amusement. “And what they are saying holds some truth, wouldn’t you say? I feel sorry for the queen most of all, but, then again I remember knights were more to her liking.”

“Like husband, like wife, I suppose,” Friol said, faux-innocently.

These words were not Merlin’s, could _never_ be Merlin’s, but in some way _were _Merlin’s. He hadn’t made any move to stop his knights from making such snide comments against other monarchs or nobles, in fact, he’d actively encouraged it at Nusar’s will. He was paying the price now. No amount of reconciliation could take back such words nor could they regain Mordred’s support. _Mordred. _He needed Mordred, something that Merlin had never thought he’d think, but it was true and all these foul things that spouted from his mouth merely compounded the resistance Mordred would put up. 

“That is my _sister_,” Elyan growled.

“Which makes it all the worse!” Meyer exclaimed. 

Merlin laughed along, feeling his loyalties split in two as he watched Elyan’s demeanour darken, as he saw Percival clamp down on Elyan’s shoulder, keeping him in his seat. He glanced towards Gwaine, whose features wore a mixture of disgust and despair which quickly developed into anger, the same as what Elyan clearly harboured. Merlin made a decision. 

“I’m sorry, my friends, I think we took it a little far, wouldn’t you say gents?” Merlin asked of his men. 

Friol shrugged. Meyer nodded. Llyor apologised. Merlin thought that was the end of it and was just about to go and get himself another tankard of mead for a job well done when Mordred spoke up. 

“They’ve been making barbs at Arthur’s expense all night. I don’t think they’re very sorry at all.” 

Merlin very nearly thwacked Mordred over the head with his cup. 

“At the end of the day, who hasn’t made a couple of jokes at a foreign king’s expense? I do recall on more than one occasion on hunting trips where all you round table knights laughed off Bayard.”

“That’s different,” Gwaine said. 

“Hardly!” exclaimed Friol; Merlin promptly sent a surge of magic which gave Friol a quick tap on the head. 

“Look, I don’t want a fight. Blame it on the mead,” Merlin tried a smile but was only met with the scowls of those in red. “Mead for everyone?” 

There was no mead for anyone, suffice to say, for Elyan punched Friol in the face which Merlin tried to stop and was only thwarted himself by someone barging past and throwing him into the wall where he promptly hit his head, disturbing some fire creatures in the process and setting _The Rising Sun _alight. Diplomacy was going well. 

***

He’d been crying in his sleep; Merlin was sure of it. 

Moments that Merlin wasn’t sure were from his past, made up, or held visions of the future had made themselves known. Faces such as Freya’s or Balinor’s or even Uther’s had raced along his closed lids, and they had screamed from their graves. Kilgharrah’s booming voice had made an appearance questioning what the warlock had done before breathing a mighty fire down on a city at Merlin’s command. Nusar was there as was Arthur - no, Arthur’s _body _over which Nusar stood victorious with dagger clutched at Gwen’s stomach. It felt like a vision from the crystals and so Merlin took it as truth but that truth wouldn’t stop the tears. 

Although his face wasn’t damp when he awoke, the exhaustion was evident as was the stickiness of crying for too long. 

The sunlight beaming through the window woke him from his slumber sometime after mid-morning. Blearily Merlin opened his eyes and was met with the sight of his old chambers. He blinked deep and then once more for good luck but his surroundings did not change. The bed was still hard as a rock, the room was still a mess albeit now with poultices and such. 

The door opened and Merlin quickly sat up, expecting Nusar to enter to work out the next stage of their plan now that Camelot’s knights had created such a stir. Instead, another entered, all white hair and shuffled steps that could only belong to Gaius. Merlin suppressed a smile and let a steely resolve cover his features. 

“Good you're awake, drink this,” Gaius thrust a vial into Merlin’s hand; the warlock gave the old man a glare before drinking the potion in one, grimacing at the taste. 

“What happened?” Merlin placed the vial on the side chest, watching as Gaius pottered about the room. 

“I believe Percival shoved you into a wall.” 

“Ouch.” 

“Hmm,” Gaius hummed in agreement. 

“How long have I been out?”

“Not long. The mid-day bell hasn’t tolled yet.” 

Merlin clenched the rough blanket in his hands, inhaled once, and stood up precariously much to Gaius’ chagrin and raised eyebrow. 

“Thank you, physician,” Merlin said, hopefully saying much more than those simple words through his tone. “I must get back to my duties.” 

“Of course, Sir Merlin,” Gaius said meaning much more than he said and followed his ward down the three steps from his boy’s old chambers. “I must ask, for interest’s sake, where you got those cuffs from?”

“A friend of a friend,” Merlin replied, searching for his boots which he found leaning against the work bench.

“You must know, of course, that only a high priestess of the old religion can impress them onto skin in such a way.” 

“I’m aware,” Merlin replied, having shoved his boots on and grabbed his dagger from the table, sliding the blade into his boot.

“And that only such a high priestess can remove them?” 

Merlin paused in his ramshackle escape from the physician’s chambers. “Yes,” he said, because he did. 

“Ah,” Gaius said, and pulled Merlin into a hug which the young man accepted without much complaint. 

Merlin pulled away a few moments later, the touch still lingering at his fingertips. 

“Claim, rule, and control,” Merlin stated with head held high and feigning confidence. 

“How long?” 

“Almost two years now.” 

“Morgana?” 

Merlin’s silence told Gaius all the older man needed to know, especially as Merlin turned pale and ran from the room. 

“Oh, my boy,” Gaius said, watching forlornly as the door closed shut. 

*** 

The Feast of Champions was to be a splendid affair. 

At least that’s what Nusar had talked about all the way to Camelot in conjunction with how frivolous Arthur must be to spend wealth so openly. Merlin did not deign to mention the three different family crests Nusar had commissioned earlier in his reign which had all been sewn with gold thread, only for Nusar to hate and burn all of them along with each weaver.

As Merlin prepared himself and Nusar for the feast later that day, he allowed his mind to wander, something he usually restricted. Yet on this night, he couldn’t find it in himself to stop the thoughts of Arthur that he generally reigned in. 

There was some part of him, a small part, that believed that Arthur deserved everything that was coming to him. He had scorned the old religion by marring its deity’s skin, after all, and by condemning Merlin’s kin to untimely deaths all those years ago. Certainly, Arthur could be seen as a man of horrors, yet Merlin could also be seen in the same likeness by magic and the new religion alike. 

There was a larger part, a much larger part, that believed that Arthur could still be the golden king of legends that people would talk about for millennia to come. He'd ushered in the new age of magic despite belief that it couldn't be done and he'd brought prosperity not just to Camelot but to all of the five kingdoms. Albion flourished under Arthur’s rule; Merlin couldn't help but wish to aid in the plight. 

And yet, there was a minute part, almost imperceptible, where Merlin longed to be back in the peaks where he'd found purpose again all those years ago. Before Nusar but after Arthur. A blissful time. Perfection. 

“I heard you and your knights burnt down a tavern last night,” Nusar chuckled as he lounged in a chair by the window in his guest chambers. “Very good, very good indeed.” 

“It didn't burn down fully,” Merlin said, sat in the chair next to his master, sipping dutifully at a flagon of sweet wine. 

“It was enough.” 

Merlin hummed his response. 

“Best behaviour tonight, Emrys. I'm sure many will want to kill you but you need to appear noble. The boy expects much from you, it's almost as if he reciprocates your feelings,” Nusar said thoughtfully.

“Should I talk to Mithian?” 

“No,” Nusar snapped. “Rodor will cut you down if you get within five feet of her and we don't want Arthur to see our little surprise, do we?” 

“No, Sire.” 

Nusar expected Arthur to be the one to offer himself as Camelot’s champion and had thought so ever since the invitation had come. Merlin hadn't heard the end of it. The false king was even more assured of Arthur’s position since the Incident on the Training Field and as such had asked Merlin numerous questions about Arthur’s habits from when Merlin was under the true king’s service. Merlin had answered, not willingly per se, but had attached enough meaning to the responses that Nusar left the conversation happy and Merlin didn’t feel as though he was breaking vow to either king. 

There was no doubt in Merlin’s mind that at the feast (on that dull rainy night for the weather in such a time of myth allowed for foreshadowing, pathetic fallacy, and other such terms in modern literature) the monarchs of three of the five kingdoms of Albion would speak their distaste and as such Arthur would see him as no better than Morgana. Perhaps even worse than Morgana. But, then again, Merlin could link this whole situation back to Morgana if he so wished and place the blame entirely upon her shoulders because, after all, she had wanted her brother dead more than anything. It appeared Merlin was duty bound to complete her deathbed wishes. 

So, yes, Rodor would probably throw a knife at him, Annis would potentially ask her own court sorcerer to curse him, and Bayard would more than likely poison him in some charade of ten years past when Merlin had been a mere servant. He had devastated their kingdoms so it was only fair that they got their chance at revenge. 

And Arthur would see all of it. Would see all of Merlin in his terrifying glory. He’d see the man who’d conquered Cornwall with a look and had searched the Western Isles for the Holy Grail. Arthur would see Emrys, not Merlin. 

“Should we start heading up?” Merlin inquired, wary that time was slipping away from them.

“In a moment. We want all eyes to be on you,” Nusar smirked and Merlin wondered to himself how all evil people managed to perfect a smirk. 

“Yes, Sire.” 

A few more minutes passed with Nusar murmuring about Camelot’s wealth and how it could be used to expand his own army - and perhaps find a companion for the white dragon. Then, Nusar stood with Merlin following suit quickly enough with head still reeling that Nusar would contemplate finding another dragon for him. 

They arrived to King Arthur’s chambers late as confirmed by the good cheer emanating from the room and the smell of roast boar. Merlin raised his eyebrows and Nusar responded in kind with a sharp tug at the bangles - _fire_ and then nothing. With a quick rap on the door opened soon by George, they entered and sure enough all eyes turned to Merlin. Merlin suppressed the urge to wave and say _hello _instead choosing to act as the perfect soldier rather than assassin as the monarchs had seen him as. 

“King Nusar,” Arthur rose first from the round table; it was smaller than the one in the Council Hall but would still represent equality at all levels, something that was needed in a room full of egotistical kings and queens. 

“King Arthur,” Nusar responded, offering his arm for clasping which Arthur took assuredly enough, smiling brightly. 

Arthur’s chambers were so similar to how they were before that all Merlin wanted to do was fling himself down at Arthur’s feet and beg for forgiveness despite what Nusar would do to him. Everything came flooding back. All the conversations, all the humour, all the moments of emotion that Arthur had endlessly tried to hide from everyone except Merlin. The times when they would stare at one another, a warm tension filling every recess of this room, were clear in Merlin’s mind. The love he felt for Arthur was evident in his heart and suddenly he remembered the times when he’d almost declared _that _secret to Arthur, but being interrupted every time by the magical threat of the week. 

They had sat before the fire together at night, similar to how they did on hunts or adventures out in the forest, and drank sweet wine. Arthur had been so vulnerable in those moments, as though the fire had warmed his own heart and melted away the harsh edges of kingship that Arthur had worn throughout the day. The man was soft against the glow of the crackling heat; Merlin had never known fire to be kind until those moments. They’d talked about their mothers in front of the fire, tongues loosened by the wine, and had come to an understanding of some sorts. Of what they understood, Merlin was never able to specifically put into words, but the feeling was there and it was mutual and that was all that mattered. 

Now, the fire was chattering happily with small creatures once again darting in its flames. They were dragons of the Pendragon seal, smaller and more docile looking. Two larger fire creatures stood guard on sconces on either side of the chamber and they appeared remarkably like Kilgharrah at first glance, but when Merlin looked closer, he saw falcons - no, not just falcons, _merlins. _He felt his breath catch in his throat. 

The round table stood in the middle of the room where the old rectangle table had been. The monarchs were sitting round it, all in their regalia but giving rather stern glares toward Merlin. He tried a smile but was met with grim lines from all. Their champions were not much better - a towering giant of a man sat next to Annis, a lithe strongly built woman next to Rodor, and a traditional knight next to Bayard - for they must have been warned by their leader what to expect from the usurper, or they had been there when Merlin had destroyed their kingdom’s chance of a future. 

The only champion who wasn’t glaring as badly instead with features in a neutral position, was Mordred - Camelot’s champion. Merlin very nearly blasted him out of the window.

“Come, sit, good friends,” Arthur said, gesturing to the chairs at his right. 

Nusar took the chair next to Rodor (thankfully, it appeared that Mithian would not be participating in the feast and as such heads would remain attached to bodies) leaving Merlin to awkwardly shuffle over to the chair directly next to Arthur. Mordred sat to Arthur’s other side. Well, this was sure to be an interesting night. 

At Arthur’s command, everyone tucked in to the rich food laid out on the table. There was boar, pheasant, deer, and rabbit all roasted finely by Cook. There were pastries both sweet and savoury and some half of each and fruit which decorated the edge of the plates and were cut into the shapes of magical creatures such as a stack of apples which had moving images of knights’ conquests rippling across their skins. There was wine galore some which was tangy and some which was sweet and sent Merlin’s mind back to the chattering fire and the softness in Arthur’s gaze once upon a time. 

When the table was empty and the cheer had died down into sleepy comments of wine dozed monarchs, George brought out a large cup and set it before Arthur. It had delicate runes etched onto its surface and had silver string lacing that curved in half circles across its rim. Merlin saw Nusar grit his teeth. The Holy Grail and Arthur had found it first. 

“The Tournament of Champions was revered before my father, King Uther, declared his war upon magic as it united the five kingdoms for a moment in time,” Arthur said after giving George his leave. “In pursuing the dream of a united Albion, I proposed to, shall we say, reignite the tournament. The kingdoms responded and agreed and so here we are.

“The rules of the tournament are simple. Each champion will fight the other champions once to first blood. The first place and second place champions - the ones who win most of their fights - will battle, again to first blood. After we have drunk from this vessel you cannot choose another champion but if they choose to leave for any reason it is your solemn duty as the leader of your country to take their place.”

Arthur took the Holy Grail and placed it to his lips, taking a drink of the pure water inside of it. He passed it to his left and Mordred did the same before passing it onwards to Annis and so on until it reached Merlin. He took a sip and felt the magic of the triple goddess flow into his veins, purifying him for a moment. Merlin placed the vessel back onto the table, solidifying the vow that each of them had made. 

Now all Nusar and he had to do was discard Mordred in some way.


	4. Chapter 4

_Three months after banishment. _

Merlin walked for a very long time.

Villages merged together in his mind for he didn't stay for more than one night, and the people were too similar to remember properly. The taverns were the same, only the price of ale and board differed, and he often wondered whether Gwaine had stopped off in them in his travels. But then he'd start thinking about what he had done to the man and whether he was still alive after being crushed against a tree. So, he'd drown his sorrows and tried to forget about Camelot.

He'd meet druids ever so often and they'd bow at his feet, praising the Lord Emrys. Initially he didn't know what he'd done to deserve such praise but then after a tavern somewhere in Bayard's lands, he'd found that magic had been legalised in Camelot. Merlin had felt bitterness and joy all at once. He'd avoided the druids after that, feeling as though he didn’t deserve praise nor title.  
  
Merlin only stopped walking when he reached the village of Dore.  
  
Dore was quaint. A little farming village where the people spoke with strong Northern accents that reminded Merlin of Tyr, the stable hand. But it also reminded him of Ealdor, not just in name, but in the way the people went about their lives. They were simple village folk who didn't know about destiny nor about the fate of Albion. They just were and they were content with that. 

It was a few days or so before Mabon, the autumnal equinox, when Merlin stumbled across Dore whilst making his way down towards Lundenwic. It was early evening, the sun was only just beginning its descent, and Merlin was bone tired. He hadn’t rested since Berneslai earlier that day and even that rest was in a haystack in some farmer’s field that had ended when the landowner had stormed up to him with a pitchfork. Thus, he was looking for somewhere safer to stay with potentially fewer pitchfork wielding farmers, something which he hoped he would find in the sleepy little village on the edge of the peaks off in the distance. 

There were a cluster of houses, more like huts if Merlin were being facetious, in the centre of the village surrounded by yellow fields that hinted of a prosperous harvest to come in the following weeks. Merlin followed the dirt path towards a stone marker carved with a serpent like creature that could have been a crude drawing of a dragon. The marker read –

_‘Dore: Gateway Betwixt the Noble Kingdoms of Mercia and Amata’._

At least it was better than nowhere. 

Merlin continued into the heart of the village and came upon a gathering of men with tankards in hand and comforting a rather sullen, sad looking man. It wasn’t until Merlin drew closer that he heard what they were saying. The words of comfort focused around the man’s wife whom had gone into labour the day before last. Her cries had fallen silent, and the women of the village had not met the men’s eyes when they’d hurried in and out of the house. The husband believed his wife and babe to be dead and as such the men had decided to attempt to lift his spirits with the drink but had only made the man - Geosiph - more distraught. 

It was when Merlin had heard enough of the conversation that he decided to intervene. 

“I’m a physician,” he said, lurking on the outskirts of the group, clutching his pack with tight fingers. “And I have magic. I can help your wife.” 

The other men looked warily at one another, but Geosiph raised his head and gave a helpless smile. 

“Where did you train?” one asked. 

“Camelot.” 

“She was hostile to sorcerer’s just a few months ago,” the same man stated, distrust marring his words. 

“Yes, I know that.” 

“So why-” 

“Enough, Abel!” Geosiph interrupted, standing from his seat. “What's your name?” 

“Merlin.” 

“Have you helped in childbirth before?” 

“Yes. Many times.” 

“What harm can he do?” Geosiph asked of the men before leading Merlin over to his house where Merlin spent the better part of twelve hours delivering two babies. 

*** 

It was late spring when Iseldir arrived. 

Merlin had found his place in Dore easily, the routine of farm life so similar to the one back in Ealdor that it was not difficult to do so. He'd helped with the harvest in the autumn, his magic doing wonders for the people of the village by rolling the hay bales with ease, and by spring he had become an integral part of the village. Not only did Merlin act as physician, he found himself as chief storyteller to the children and as a familial figure to the babes Balinor and Hunith so named after Merlin’s parents when Geosiph had asked for them. And so, Merlin was happy. Maybe not content but joyful yet that was enough. 

Destiny, on the other hand, had differing ideas. 

Merlin was recounting a story of a unicorn and a selfish prince to his enraptured audience when he felt a druidic presence enter his mind. He hadn't felt any magic other than his own for many months now for the children of Dore were entirely ordinary, so it was rather unexpected when such a strong entity came so close to the village. Barriers up, and magic on guard, Merlin continued the story but ending it much quicker than he would have done on any other occasion. Whilst a couple of the children did complain for a moment, they were soon distracted by a surge of blue butterflies that shone in the light of dusk. 

Looking to the forest beyond the village, Merlin sent out a pulse of welcoming magic and remained seated on the grassy verge he told his stories on. Fixed between his lips was a strand of hay, plucked from a bale by a child’s wandering hand and gifted to the man earlier that evening. His neckerchief was gone, lost somewhere in the folds of the peaks, and his tunics were now of the same dull material of his fellow villagers. The brown jacket that had been a gift from his mother (and, he suspected, had belonged to his father once upon a time) was stuffed down the side of a cabinet in Geosiph’s house, forgotten in the race to deliver the babes. 

A figure emerged from the trees, traipsing down the well-worn path to Dore. Merlin waited until Iseldir was much closer before standing and taking the strand of hay out from between his lips now twirling it in his fingers. Iseldir was much older than when Merlin had last seen him - the druid’s hair was greyer and his skin held more wrinkles. Although, his eyes were brighter and less troubled. The druid leader bowed at Merlin’s feet; Merlin immediately took Iseldir’s arm and gave him a stern word about bowing to him. Iseldir responded with a shrug and then a brief smile. 

“You called for me?” Merlin said, choosing once again to sit on the verge, pulling Iseldir down with him. 

“Yes, Emr-” 

“Merlin. I don’t have much need for destiny now. And I don’t think I was ever Emrys to begin with.” 

Iseldir sighed. “The once and future king has brought magic back to the land; you should be with him.” 

“And I’m not, so you’ve got it wrong,” Merlin broke the strand of hay in half. 

“The prophecies would not lie to us.” 

“Well, they’re wrong. _You’re _wrong. If you’ve just come all this way to convince me of my destiny then you need to leave. I have a life here, and I like it. I’m _happy_. My _magic _is happy and it's never been like that before - they accept me here-” 

“You don’t think Arthur would accept you?” 

Merlin scoffed. “He hasn’t. He banished me because of the magic, because of everything I’ve done for him. He might have brought magic back to Camelot, but that doesn’t mean that he would accept all that I’ve done.” 

Iseldir turned from Merlin and looked across the fields and the village to the church that was being built in honour of the God of the new religion. “If you go down this path, you face more dangers than you could possibly know. Your destiny would be unbalanced and as such the earth herself will die. You’d condemn all those here to death.” 

“Everyone dies.”

“Not everyone.” 

Merlin looked at Iseldir quizzically. 

“I’m not here to argue with you, Merlin. I came because of your other abilities. There’s a dragon being held by the Sarrum of Amata, they say she’s small, no more than a babe.” 

“Aithusa,” Merlin whispered guiltily. 

“Yes. She has no room to grow, no food to eat. We think she’s being kept alive by magic alone.”

“And why haven’t you saved her?!” 

“The magic that binds her is too strong. Only you can save her, Emrys, because you are the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth but you can’t escape your destiny. No man can, no matter _how_ great.”

Merlin said nothing for a while, just sat and thought. He needed to rescue Aithusa, but he also needed to escape from the world that displayed his destiny as though it were a drama like the plays the new religion put on based around their saviour. He felt as though he were a poor player, strutting and fretting his hour upon the stage until ultimately, he would be heard no more for Arthur’s legend would surpass all others and drown out Merlin’s plight. 

“If I go, if I save my dragon, what does that bode for my destiny?” 

“Not much will change,” Iseldir said. “But you need to go to Arthur, he needs you and you need him.”

Iseldir stood, slow and creaky.

“I thought I did, long ago, but I can’t be a person with him. He’s all encompassing, he’s the sun and what am I but the moon who follows, only being lit when he sees me.” 

“You’ve had time for poetry, I see?” 

Merlin huffed but smiled. 

“I must be going. Our people are growing restless this far from home-”

“Home?” 

Iseldir smiled softly. “Camelot.”

And as Iseldir made his way along the path Merlin cried out: 

“After I’ve got the dragon, I’m leaving for the continent. I think my magic will leave with me. Can you let the druids know? And if Arthur asks, that should be your answer.” 

Iseldir nodded but his smile dissipated into a frown. Merlin had chosen the wrong path - he should have gone to Arthur first. 

***

There were tears from all when Merlin left Dore the next day. 

But on Merlin walked as he had done all those months ago and left the sleepy village on the edge of the peaks behind and in his memories. He walked west through the hills, over brambles and bushes, encountering the odd rabbit, and then further up onto rocks that towered above the landscape. It was desolate and rather cold but still Merlin ploughed on, determination and guilt driving him toward his dragon. 

The Forest of Eyam decorated the valley in a lush carpet of fern, moss, pine, and basil greens with trees reaching up toward the sky, nearly touching the clouds with the tips of their leaves. Caws of ravens and soft lullabies of jack-daws and finches blessed his ears - they were the sounds of Ealdor in spring-time, something which he’d all but forgotten. He would go to Ealdor before leaving for the continent, see his mother one last time and give her a message to send to Camelot. 

Merlin entered the forest after a day of traversing rocks and boulders. His bag had pulled at his shoulders and weighed him down even with a spell to make it lighter, and so when he hefted it from his shoulder to settle down for the night it was a relief. After making a fire just by looking at some dry twigs, and roasting some rabbit, Merlin sat at the base of a tree and watched as the sun descended in place of the moon. Stars twinkled through the canopy and Merlin wondered how they’d found their place so easily. 

A sound. Merlin shot up from his slumped position. It was coming from deeper within the forest, cries of pain and the clang of metal upon metal. 

The fire fizzled out at his will, the smoke no longer rising through the branches, and Merlin was plunged into near darkness with only the light of the moon and the stars far above to guide him. He gathered his belongings, shoved them into his bag, and walked towards the sounds, ever the tragic hero. Soon, he drew near and crept closer with a silencing spell so that the underbrush would not crunch before Merlin would make himself known. He stopped behind a large oak and peered round a corner. 

Bandits. Six of them against one man who was doing a remarkable job of not dying thus far, mostly because the bandits weren’t acting as a team and allowing one man to attack at a time. Perhaps they were playing with their prey to give the man some false hope. But Merlin could see that the man had no hope in his eyes which were defeated despite the swings of his sword. In a way, the man could be seen as beautiful - his dark skin seemed smooth by the moonlight, and his physique was certainly pleasing, his hair was cropped short, close to the scalp. 

In the years to come, Merlin would no longer see Nusar of Navarre as beautiful. 

He made a snap decision and walked out from the cover of the trees immediately drawing attention to himself. _Good _he thought as the bandits and even Nusar stared at him incredulously, _let them doubt._

“I think that's enough. Let the nice man be on his way.” 

The bandits chuckled and continued their game, slicing and stabbing with reckless abandon.

“I really wouldn't ignore me.”

The bandits did so. 

“Stop.” 

They did not. 

Merlin had given them a chance, hadn’t he? And that surely had to make him good, it had to make him be in the right. It must do. 

Without moving so much as a finger, Merlin sent the bandits flying, some crashing into trees in some horrible reconstruction of Gwaine’s fate, whilst others crashed into the ground, heads bouncing on the earth and cracking there, feeding the dirt with blood. Few survived. The ones that did lay bleeding out or stumbled to their feet and ran, paying no mind to people whom they must have called friends. 

Nusar stood dumbly surrounded by a circle of dead or dying men. 

“Magic?” Nusar asked, an innocence to his tone that would soon be erased. 

Merlin nodded once. And then continued on his way, stepping over limbs of both tree and man. Nusar watched for a moment, then followed with sword now sheathed, despite Merlin’s clear desire to be left alone. 

“Thank you for that.” 

Merlin did not reply, instead he turned sharply right further into the forest. Nusar followed, his steps never faltering. 

“I've never seen magic as powerful as that. Especially so close to Camelot’s borders. But with magic now being legal there I guess you don't have to worry. Is that where you're going? I heard the boy king wants to find a sorcerer to help in his court, are you trying out for that? Do you think you could bring me? I've always wanted to be a member of court, I mean, I was once a member of court on the continent - have you heard of Navarre? - but it was all so dull until someone tried to assassinate me and then usurped my earldom. Oh, I’m Nusar by the way. Do you have a name? Or a fake one since sorcerers always seem to have fake names that sound foolish - have you heard of Prospero? Apparently, he lived on an island somewhere, saved a fairy from a tree. I think the fairy looked a lot like you-” 

“Will you _please _leave me alone?” Merlin whirled around, quite done with this annoyance. 

“- or so I've heard,” Nusar looked at Merlin strangely. “You are very pretty. Ethereal. And very powerful.”

“Look, I saved you but it wasn't an invitation for you to follow me.” 

Nusar frowned like a spurned child. 

“I'd rather you left me alone now.”

Nusar harrumphed. 

“If that's possible. If not, I will just throw you against that tree.” 

Nusar raised an eyebrow.

“You've seen me do it."

But Merlin could feel a sense of giddiness bubbling into his throat, the same reaction he'd often gotten when goading Arthur back when the king was a pompous prat of a prince. This exchange with Nusar was remarkably familiar in a way that ached but also gave immense joy. Merlin could feel his lips beginning to twitch up into a smile which he failed to control. Before he knew it, Merlin had released an ear-splitting grin and had given Nusar his name. 

Whilst Dore had been pleasant and he had been almost content there, the village lacked something that Merlin so very clearly needed - a friend. A friend who would bring out the best in him, someone to protect and pin all hopes on as he had done with Arthur. Perhaps that was Merlin’s fatal flaw - the need for friendship (and Lancelot, Freya, Gwaine, and Arthur evidently showed that flaw). 

So, Nusar was to be Merlin's friend, his little project. Perhaps he could go to Navarre with Aithusa and give Nusar back his earldom, or maybe something more but something away from Arthur because Arthur was destined for Albion. Yes, he should leave these mighty shores for certain. 

“I'm on a quest,” Merlin said. “To find my dragon.” 

Nusar’s brows raised. “I thought all the dragons died out with their lords.” 

“That's what Uther wanted people to believe.” 

“You're a dragonlord?” 

Merlin nodded. He'd never been able to tell anyone such things as this without fear before. Yes, he'd just met the man, and yes that would probably backfire sometime but for now, he had a friend who seemed joyous not scared at his powers.

“You're more than _powerful_. You're like a … _God_.” 

Maybe not, then. 

“You could do _anything_, couldn't you?” 

“I wouldn't go as far to say that I'm a God,” Merlin said because he felt very much like a human. “Definitely _not _a god. I just, I have magic and that's that. But I should be off on my quest. It was good to meet you.” 

Nusar was a little creepy truth be told. The euphoria of having a friend had passed and Merlin found himself looking at the man more intently. What he saw made him nervous. 

“Let me help.” 

“No.”

“But-” 

“I've already stayed too long here.” 

“Mer-” 

“I shouldn't have said anything.” 

“I owe you a debt. You saved my life. I may no longer be a noble, but I'm still noble at heart.” 

And that reminded Merlin far too much of Gwaine and thus he allowed Nusar to travel with him to Amata where on the way he learned of Nusar’s life story which went like this: 

Nusar was born to a lady and lordship who were still loyal to Rome and their religion which was newer than the old religion but older than the new religion. His lordship of Navarre was originally from Egypte and had met her ladyship of Navarre on a hunting trip where her ladyship had caught a wild boar much to the chagrin of his lordship. The two had been married the following month and eight months after that Nusar was born - _a scandal _Nusar said _an absolute scandal_. 

Merlin said nothing to that because he was a bastard. 

Nusar grew up in Navarre (which technically was a principality within Olaf's kingdom) with trips to Egypte ever so often as his father prepared him (as the eldest) to take over the earldom. Over the years he was introduced to more brothers and sisters than one could count until her ladyship died when Nusar was fifteen after popping out a grand total of twenty children of which only four survived. When Nusar was twenty his lordship died after being struck _accidentally_ by a poisoned arrow in the bedchamber. 

Merlin said nothing because he had once tried to do the same, not that he remembered of course, but Gwen had told him thusly after the whole incident with the Fomorrah. 

After five years of ruling his earldom Nusar was usurped by his younger siblings (despite one of them having only seen eleven summers) and nearly killed before he took a boat to Cair Ceint where he’d roamed the Nemethian countryside for three years before taking on the whole of Albion. And then he’d accidentally caused a fight with some bandits resulting in the situation now - _hello! _Nusar said with a wave, desperately trying to make himself look more friendly. 

There was a lot more detail to all that he had said - which, amongst other things, included being a mercenary for Bayard, slaying a sorceress (_sorry, Merlin, mate)_, and nearly joining some pirates who were off to join the Vikings in the East - but Merlin rarely listened, instead planning how to rescue Aithusa and ditch Nusar in the meantime. The man was a limpet, that much was certain. 

Once Nusar was done with his life story about a day or so later when the two were sitting round a fire with some sweet wine that Nusar had borrowed - _stolen _\- from a village along the Mercian coastline, Nusar begged for Merlin’s own story. Merlin was beginning to grow suspicious of the man’s good mood and penchant for ambition (as shown when he’d apparently fought a warlord in Hen Ogledd) but he was a much better shot at hunting (something clearly gained from her ladyship) and the roasted pheasant was pretty good. 

Merlin obliged but was scant on the details - from Ealdor, worked in the fields, got scared about Uther’s hatred of magic, ran to Dore where a druid told him about the dragon. Nusar frowned, but kept polite enough, even offering Merlin the other pheasant wing to chew on. The warlock decided not to tell Nusar any more of his life story for the time being, instead, he made fire creatures in the dimming embers. Nusar was amazed. 

And thus, the cogs of destiny ground to a halt, waiting for the hands of magic to unstick them. 

*** 

“Over here,” Nusar hissed and then beckoned Merlin over to the tree he was hiding behind. 

Ducking low beneath the enemy’s line of sight, Merlin ran over, almost tumbling in his haste. 

“How many?"

“Enough,” Merlin replied. 

Nusar grinned. “But you can still take out all of them, right?” 

After a moment Merlin said, “Yes,” to which Nusar developed a dangerous glint in the corner of his eye that looked nothing like magic and more like the desire of a man once scorned. 

“So do it.” 

“Surely there's another way.” 

“There is no other way. The Sarrum stole your dragon, this is merely retrieving your property and making sure nothing like it happens again.”

“But-” 

“You're a dragonlord, Merlin, it's your prerogative.” 

Merlin sighed deeply, and let his gaze fall onto the fortress of which the Sarrum conducted his business. It was made of a deep sandstone that Merlin recognised as being the same as what was on the very tops of the peaks that he had walked. (Distantly, he thought that the stone wasn't as nice as the stone that had built Camelot). There were guards stationed along every entrance, on every battlement, and some even posted out into the forest. The latter of which were aided by the use of hunting dogs that strained against rope leads. 

To the right of the fortress lay a smattering of hovels, not unsimilar to what Morgana had been forced into the previous year, which Merlin had seen first-hand. The ordinary folk, well those that Merlin could see, appeared happy enough if a little on the thin and scraggy side, but such was normal in the days of old and so Merlin was unperturbed. 

Within the fortress walls lay his dragon. He could sense her, even from such a distance, and she was scared. Only a babe and unable to defend herself from little other than a hunting dog. Merlin felt a profound sense of guilt - as Aithusa’s egg father, as her kin, and as the last remaining lord he should have taken better care of her, should have raised her instead of pawning her off to Kilgharrah to focus on Arthur. No matter. He would correct his sins now. 

“Whenever you're ready,” Nusar brought Merlin out of his thoughts with a sarcastic, regal tone. 

Merlin felt the magic in the earth quiver at his touch and then lean in, drawing forth and obeying its master. The warlock could feel the magic fill every recess, every crack, and every pockmark until he was brimming with it. Nusar stood astounded and astonished and found himself longing for such power easily wielded. 

“_Swefe nu_.”

Whilst the sleeping spell was not one that would cause any deaths, it would allow Merlin to walk into the fortress without causing a fuss until he was well away and on the continent with both his dragons in tow. The guards along the battlements fell to sleep last, then Merlin was on his way, Nusar following closely behind with sword raised and ready to strike anyone down. 

Merlin only hoped that they didn't run into the Sarrum himself because he was renowned across the five kingdoms as being the largest magic hater to ever live, second only to Uther. The warlord was more ruthless in his methods and indeed Merlin had been privy to those methods when under Uther’s court - the Sarrum had sent Uther a letter one summer, a year after Amata had been established, giving Uther some tips on how to spot sorcerers. In return, Uther had suggested the witchfinder Aredian. Amata had been a friend to Camelot until Arthur repealed the ban. 

Once within the fortress, the dragon was not hard to find for Merlin followed his magic. It led him to a courtyard of some description and in the middle lay a pit. He was surprised to find that there were no guards stationed in this part of the castle, especially when a dragon could easily fly from such a place. He was reminded of Kilgharrah and how even such a great dragon had been unable to escape his prison. 

“Aithusa,” Merlin called out, both in his mind and out loud into the dusk. 

“_Emrys_,” Aithusa responded in her mind. Merlin heaved a sigh of relief that the dragon still held consciousness. 

Merlin strode toward the pit, relief filling him when he saw Aithusa’s gleaming scales but ignoring the mound of black cloth by her side. Whispering a spell, the chains that were wrapped around her wings and paws came swiftly undone before splintering into pieces. Aithusa flew from the pit and shot into the sky, her hide glistening beautifully. Praise the triple goddess, the dragon was not malformed or stunted and her skin was only slightly irritated - any longer and she'd have grown too big and would have been crippled for life. 

Merlin gestured for Aithusa to come to him. Aithusa obeyed her lord’s command (though it was no trouble to do so) and the two embraced with Merlin’s arms wrapped around her neck and Aithusa's head tucked into his chest. 

“_How long?” _Merlin asked through their connection. 

“_Six cycles of the moon_,” she replied as she relished the comfort of her kin. 

“_I'm so sorry. I should have noticed.” _

_“You were grieving_.” 

_“Even so.” _

_“There is something I must tell you.” _

_“It can wait,” _Merlin pulled away first but still kept a hand upon Aithusa’s scales. “_We are to leave for the continent, somewhere where destiny cannot reach_.” 

Aithusa didn't smile as Merlin would have thought she'd have done, instead she pulled away from his touch. Merlin frowned.

“Aithusa what have you done?” he said, aloud this time. 

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” 

“Tell me!” 

“She's my friend.” 

“Who? Who is it?” 

“She’d rather save me than save herself. It was a debt because I saved her first.” 

“Aithusa!” Merlin shouted, allowing his powers as dragonlord to show through. 

But Aithusa didn't answer because Nusar spoke up first as he stood over the pit. Whilst he had allowed Merlin and Aithusa their reunions, Nusar had crept over to the pit and found the same mound of black cloth that Merlin had ignored. Except it moved and raised a pale face to the dusk. 

“Merlin! There's a woman in here!” 

Merlin looked toward Aithusa where the dragon had a determined look upon her face. 

“She's my _friend_.” 

“Oh _god_.” 

*** 

Merlin wasn't sure how he'd killed the Sarrum only that it had been done and in a fairly quick, if ruthless, fashion. 

No new Sarrum had been named and it had been assumed by the Amatan men that one of the two men would become their leader. Yet, neither Merlin nor Nusar had stepped forward to claim such a role and so those loyal to Amata rather than the Sarrum himself began to grumble, especially as it was rumoured that the sorceress (whom some claimed was the Lady Morgana, whilst the majority asserted that a witch of such power could never be contained) in the pit had been freed alongside her dragon. A dragon which appeared to be under the control of one of the new men (who was rumoured to have killed the old Sarrum and as such should really take the role of the Sarrum). 

Merlin paid no heed to such rumours because they were true and he didn't want to speak to any of the men from Amata. So, he let them simmer while he chose to stay behind closed doors in the Sarrum’s private quarters. Said quarters included a bedroom, something which could be regarded as a throne room, and a room for dining all equipped with the fineries of royalty. 

Merlin was sat in the dining room in a window nook with the side of his head resting upon the window and Aithusa sleeping at one dangling foot. Outside, it was raining but the kind of humid rain that left hair mussed and allowed sweat to pour. Summer was approaching as was the anniversary of Merlin’s banishment and so the warlock was feeling rather forlorn, especially with the events that had transpired a mere three days ago. Morgana had been asleep for much of that time with Nusar playing nursemaid and sitting vigil, only leaving to fetch the witch food. Merlin hadn't seen her since he'd retrieved her from the pit and had commanded Aithusa to stay away (which the dragon had huffed no end about and only stopped talking about when she was asleep). 

Merlin let magic fall from his hand in sparks and puffs of smoke. No fire creatures were present but soon a storm cloud appeared and from its droplets fell the shape of a merlin falcon, his namesake. The falcon flew up and up and up dripping water over the stonework. It transformed into a woman’s face in mid-air - _Freya _\- but Merlin was too much of a coward to face her. He let the rain disappear and cleared the water from the room. He looked towards the window again and the rain where Freya appeared once again. 

He blinked and she was gone. 

The door opened, the sound echoing throughout the room. Aithusa lifted her head to see Nusar walk in. 

“She's asking for you.” 

“You can tell her I'm busy,” Merlin pulled his knees to his chest. 

“If I may say so, you don't look very busy to me.” 

“Well I am. I'm doing … magic stuff. Very important magic stuff. So, if you don't mind,” Merlin gestured for Nusar to leave. 

“Can't it wait?” Nusar implored. “She's just woken from a pit, for Christ’s sake.” 

“Then you can keep her company.” 

“But she wants to talk to you specifically.” 

“She not _happy _with _you_?” Merlin said, salt lining his tongue. 

Nusar scoffed. “If only.” 

“I can keep her company. She is my friend after all,” Aithusa said and came to a stand. 

“No,” Merlin commanded. “You're not to see her."

“But-” 

“No, Aithusa.” 

Aithusa huffed and flopped once again to the floor, tail swishing and scales raised. 

“Merlin, come on. Is she not your kin?” Nusar implored, his infatuation for the woman clear as day. 

“Yes,” Merlin said through gritted teeth. “But her destiny and what has happened between us … I can't excuse it.” 

“Because you failed her,” Aithusa struck deep. 

Merlin turned dramatically to peer out the window. The rain was petering off, leaving the sun to shine through and for a kaleidoscope of colours to appear. Freya had gone, her warning left unheeded and her love following the wrong path of destiny. 

“I had to,” Merlin murmured. 

“It's high time you made it up to her then,” Nusar strode over to the nook, took Merlin by the arm, and dragged him from his seat. Merlin grumbled and rubbed at his arm yet he knew that in his heart this was the right thing to do and was glad for Nusar to force him to meet his destiny (or his doom). Even as Merlin left the room, he sent a further command to Aithusa telling her to stay away from her friend, and heard Aithusa roar in his mind. He ignored her and set off towards the Lady Morgana. 

Morgana was sat in the middle of a lush bed, her hair in tangles for whenever Nusar had gotten close enough she had screamed. The bed sheets were pulled around her shoulders and she wore one of Nusar's tunics. She had dark circles under her eyes that would render even the most tired, awake; her skin was so pale it was almost translucent. Merlin pitied her. 

As he walked in, Morgana made no movement, she just sat unfocused staring into the air. Tragically vulnerable. Merlin stood in the darkest recesses for a while, as far as he could get from her without making her feel as though she were alone. Morgana blinked. And then once more. Again, until she came back to herself. 

“Merlin,” she mumbled, almost imperceptible. 

Merlin did not answer. Her terrified voice tugged at his heart and he almost couldn't breathe with the guilt. 

“Merlin,” she said, much clearer this time but a hint more desperate. “You have magic.”

“I am _so _sorry.” 

Merlin had always been in touch with his emotions; indeed, such things were paramount to the heights of femininity and thus were easy for Arthur to jump upon. His emotions were what kept him in check, were what his magic thrived off, but made for a simple target. It was therefore no surprise that Merlin found fat tears dripping down his face which had turned a blotchy kind of red within minutes - it was ugly and guilt ridden. 

“You’re Emrys. You’re meant to kill me,” Morgana’s eyebrows drew together. “And yet you’re still the boy I knew all those years ago.”

“Morgana, I’m-”

“I forgot you. But now I remember."

Merlin swallowed. So did Morgana. 

“You used to brush and braid my hair,” she said because he did. 

He did. Once upon a time, a very long time ago in a far-off kingdom where she was not a witch and he was just a boy and they were so very innocent. Before Arthur became their joint goal and before a serving girl became queen because that girl was her friend first and enemy second. Before a boy made a choice and chose Arthur and poisoned her. 

In those first tentative days where everyone but Morgana thought Merlin wouldn’t last the week. In those warm summer days when the four of them - Arthur, Gwen, Merlin, Morgana - would take jaunts in the forest, where Gwen and Arthur would vanish like sorcery was afoot and the two would be left in silence. When Morgana’s braid had fallen and Merlin had knotted it back up again, a small smile when he’d explained how he’d got a little extra money for his mother by making the rope that the ship builders used. When Morgana had smiled and Merlin had smiled back because he hadn’t had to choose, not then, never then, because those were the years of their youth and innocence not poison and rope burn. 

Merlin spoke a few words in the old religion. A hairbrush appeared. Morgana smiled. Merlin could not, but still he moved over to the bed, stood for a moment longer debating with himself, before settling behind his lady, back resting upon the headboard and thighs pressed against her lower back. She shuffled closer to him as he guided the bristles through the tangled locks whispering apologies, words of endearment, and the odd spell as he went. 

“How many times do you think I’ve forgotten you?” Morgana queried. 

Merlin stopped his brushing. Thought for a moment. Then. 

“As many times as you have remembered.” 

“You’re very good at riddles,” Morgana turned her head to look Merlin in the eyes. 

“That wasn’t a riddle,” he said.

A pause. A breath. Once more for good luck 

“Are you going to kiss me?” she asked of him. 

Merlin turned her head round answering her question. He let his hands thread through the silky strands and let his mind wander to those simpler times. Just like then, Morgana was soft to the touch but now she was scarred, not like how she’d been. Not like how she should be because Morgana had always been strong even in the direst of circumstances like in Ealdor that summer, like when she’d fight Uther. No more. Not at this moment anyway. Merlin had done this - he’d pushed her away, he’d poisoned her, he’d abandoned her, he’d birthed the dragon that had led her to imprisonment, he’d let her think they were friends in the beginning even as the Great Dragon had warned against it. 

Soon enough, Morgana’s hair was braided intricately and Merlin’s hands fell from her scalp. There was little sound apart from their breath and the increasing bustle of the market that had been dulled by the rain.

“I wish I’d told you,” Merlin said softly. 

“So do I,” Morgana replied, letting the arch of her back fall into Merlin’s chest, her head resting on his collarbone. She looked towards his neck. “No neckerchief?” 

“I lost it, I’m not sure where it is.” 

“No jacket, either.” 

“No.” 

“I suppose Arthur can get you a new one.” 

Almost remarkably, Morgana did not spit the name of her brother out as though it were scum. Merlin had expected her too, had hoped she would have because it would have given a reason to defend the man. No matter. 

“He banished me.”

“But Nusar said-”

“Before the ban was lifted.”

Morgana huffed. Merlin felt it vibrate through his bones. 

“He is just like his father,” she said, venom appearing. Merlin’s stomach dropped. 

“He’s _nothing _like Uther. He’s lifted the ban, isn’t that enough? For him to lift my banishment is an entirely different matter stemming from betrayal.”

“He’s _exactly _like Uther!”

“Why do you think your betrayal hurt them both so much? Arthur told me, many times, so many times that he’d wished he’d helped you, that he’d done something but he couldn’t imagine doing anything now because of what you’d become!” 

“And who’s fault is that?” she sneered, pushing herself from his chest and from the bed to a stand. 

“_Mine! _Morgana, I thought it was the right thing to do at the time and then the Great Dragon told me prophecies about you and the druid boy and how you were going to kill Arthur and I couldn’t let that happen,” Merlin sat up on his knees, almost begging her to realise that he did blame himself entirely. 

“I was in a _pit _for _six months_. And before that I wandered, scared because my magic had been taken.” 

“Morgana-” 

“I suppose it makes sense that you’re Emrys.” 

“- just listen. I know, I blame myself, I -”

“I should have figured it out years ago, seen as you always seemed to choose him over me.” 

“He was my destiny!” Merlin could not stop the onslaught of tears. “He was _everything_!” 

“And yet _you_ are _mine_,” Morgana pulled her hair from the braid with magic and stormed from the room, sheets forgotten on the floor. 

Merlin took up residency of the bed, then, and sobbed into the pillows before staring into the middle distance with a sheet wrapped around his shoulders, and hair that stuck up in every direction. 

So, here was the prophesied Emrys.

The next three days passed in a parody of the last three days with Merlin taking Morgana’s place in the bedchambers. He had left Aithusa to her own devices and she had taken the freedom given to the extreme by going nowhere near her lord, instead sticking close to Morgana for her lady was her friend. Morgana dared not enter the chambers, only whisking past it a couple of times but was always deep in conversation either with Aithusa and Nusar. The factor of Nusar was what was making Merlin worry in the times that he could break through his haze of mourning as the man was evidently infatuated with Morgana, but those breaks in the haze were sparse. The heavens were being stingy with their light and so Merlin found images of Arthur playing through his mind, rather than be warned of the clear danger signs from Nusar. 

It was on the third night that Merlin made contact with any living being since his argument with Morgana. Aithusa wandered in, looking for all the world that she did not want to be there but had put on a brave face. 

“Morgana and Nusar have asked for you to dine with us tonight.”

Merlin said nothing, just blinked. 

“Morgana says she’s sorry.”

“Why can’t she tell me that herself?”

“She was a little scared you’d use your magic. Men have not been so kind to us lately.”

Merlin rubbed his eyes. Then once more for good luck. 

“Tell them I’ll be there but I may not be such good company.” 

Aithusa nodded then left and Merlin was alone again. 

It would take him an hour before he could move from his position on the bed, another hour before he could walk to the door and a further half an hour before he could buck up the courage to leave the room and join his companions. When he reached the dining room, Morgana and Nusar were already well into their first cup of sweet wine but had not touched the food yet. Again, Morgana wore one of Nusar’s tunics and what appeared to be Merlin’s breaches, though he wasn’t quite sure. They both smiled wide when they saw Merlin. 

“Merlin!” Nusar greeted jovially. 

“Nusar,” Merlin said, not so jovially. 

“So glad you could join us!” Morgana said, remarkably chipper. 

Merlin nodded his assent and slumped into a chair, reaching already for the food lovingly laid out on the table. In an instant his plate was filled with delicacies - venison, a custard tart, and chicken to name but a few - things which had been hard to find in Dore but not so much in Camelot. Merlin planned to eat his sorrows away and then drown them in wine for good luck - because as Gaius had said, one whiff of wine and he’d be singing as loud as any sailor (and really, Arthur ought to have known he couldn’t have been in the tavern). 

Morgana was ripping a hunk of bread apart. Nusar was watching her intently. Aithusa lay off to one side, snoring once again. Merlin tucked in. 

It was when he was full that Nusar spoke up. Merlin was slumped further into his chair having eaten more than his fill, and was just on the verge of falling asleep, semi-content for the first time since leaving Dore, but snapped himself awake when Nusar proposed a toast. 

“To what?” Merlin asked. 

“New beginnings?” Morgana suggested. 

“To new beginnings,” Merlin reiterated and raised his cup as the others followed suit. 

“Yes, indeed,” Nusar murmured into his cup. 

Merlin drank.

The most peculiar thing happened, something which Merlin should have expected, something which Freya had tried to warn him about in the rain - _poison. _Merlin’s throat clenched as did his stomach and it felt remarkably like that time with Annis, or was it Bayard? He wasn’t quite sure. Everything was turning fuzzy and apparently Arthur was here because he came bounding over, no that was in the past. 

Merlin groaned and looked towards Morgana who was grinning. 

“I only wanted to give you the experience of hemlock as you gave me,” she said, faux innocently. 

He tried to stand, and did succeed, but was pushed back to his chair by Morgana’s magic. His own magic rebelled but could not escape the confounds of his body and indeed appeared to be weakening, as the roar that had started, fell into a rumble and then a quiet moaning that Merlin wasn’t entirely sure was internal. As his hands began to tremble, his stomach convulsed and all he had consumed in the meal revisited his plate - the hemlock must have been magically enhanced, the same as when Merlin had given some to Morgana that fateful day. 

“Please. Morgana, stop,” he managed to blurt out before another wave of nausea hit him. As expected, she didn’t respond with kind words. “Nusar.” 

But Nusar was looking on as well with glee. 

“Aithusa!” he commanded, but the dragon stayed asleep. He tried again but nothing happened. 

“Aithusa is taking a well needed nap,” Morgana said. “If she’d stayed awake, she’d be obliged to help.” 

Merlin tried something different. “_O drako-” _

“We’ll have none of that now,” Morgana waved a hand and Merlin felt his magic disappear far too deep within his soul. 

“I said I was sorry, please Morgana!” Merlin choked out between wheezes. 

“Don’t worry, dear Emrys. You aren’t going to die, no, that would be impossible. _Swefe nu._” 

And though Merlin struggled, soon he was under the thrall of sleep, dreaming of a castle, a life, and a king too far gone to be retrieved. 

***

Morgana stood regal.

Even without the crown and pomp, she still embodied the essence of a Camelot monarch with a strong head and a fierce heart. Her dress, as dark as the night's sky, hugged her body, the lace dancing tantalisingly low below her collarbone and wrapping around her arms. Around her neck she wore a Pendragon red gemstone, the only colour that could be found against the pale expanse of skin and deep black of her clothing.

She was exquisite as she always had been and Merlin remembered the adoration he had once held for her, all those years ago. He remembered the tentative glances, the brushes of skin, the breaths between words. And he remembered the poison on their lips, the caress of a dagger, and the love he harboured for another that had been greater than any he had had for her.  
  
They had both wronged each other so very much.  
  
"Nice of you to join us, Merlin," she said, peering down at him.  
  
Merlin glanced right. Nusar stood there, gripping the hilt of his sword with vigour. To his left, stood Aithusa who appeared to be as rapt as Morgana was. The warlock grit his teeth and forced his gaze back to Morgana.  
  
"I trust you like what I've done with the place." 

The dining room had been completely transformed, indeed the wall adjoining the room and the throne room had gone as had the dining table. The splendour still remained as did the throne but the walls were covered head to toe in druidic runes. A large triskelion had been carved onto the floor - Merlin knelt in the middle of it in the thrall of chains whilst Morgana, Nusar, and Aithusa stood in the three prongs. 

“How very druidic,” Merlin sneered and received a slap from Morgana in return, the magic cutting into skin just as Arthur had done, reopening the scar there. “You asked.” 

“Truthfully, she didn’t ask merely stated and so she was perfectly within her rights to exercise her prerogative,” Nusar said matter of factly.

Merlin felt his upper lip twitch as though he were an animal waiting to attack; he said nothing, just glowered. 

“Now, Emrys, I bet you’re wondering what’s going to happen next. Well, to cut a long story short we’re enslaving magic itself and then we’re off to invade Camelot-” 

“For its prosperity,” Nusar interrupted.

“Yes, thank you, for its prosperity and for the kingdom itself. But there is a bit of a problem when it comes to you, Merlin-” 

“It’s a rather big problem all things considered,” Nusar interrupted, again. 

“Please stop speaking. Yes, big problem - we can’t exactly bind magic to magic hence Nusar and there is the issue of your dragonlord powers. Oh wait, look what I have, a dragon-” 

“_We _have a dragon, a rather pretty dragon, very ethereal.” 

“If you don’t shut up, I will happily boil you slowly. Yes, so there’s the dragon and you’re conveniently without magic for the moment-”

“But that will come back eventually don’t you worry!” 

“Don’t think that I have to keep you here,” Morgana lowered her voice and became even more fierce. “There are plenty of other foolish mortals that I can bind him to who I can easily make loyal to me. So, for the last time, _be quiet._” 

Nusar nodded, subdued. 

“Your magic will come back but for the moment, you don’t have any, which makes everything a little easier. You will be bound to Nusar here and for all intents and purposes you will be under his control until the day he dies which likely won’t happen as your magic will protect him from anything.”

“Sounds great,” Merlin said.

“_It can be broken_,” Aithusa spoke in his mind with a message of apology and an explanation of her betrayal. 

“_How?” _he asked. 

“_Only a high priestess can remove it but it can be done. Either that or Nusar will have to die when you’re not available to save him.”_

“It is rather thrilling. And, since Nusar is loyal to me, you are mine to control. Are we understood?”

A pause. 

“Wonderful!”

And then the chanting began. It started low, almost guttural with the essence of a dragonlord buried somewhere beneath the tones but Merlin was unable to pick out a single word in the language of the dragons. Slowly rising, the chants grew clearer and Merlin was able to distinguish the language of the old religion, the language of magic. It made him squirm in his chains and spit out words of magic of his own that didn’t work but yet still he kept persevering because this could not happen. He’d refuse. He’d go the Triple Goddess and say _excuse me, but I think your last High Priestess has succumbed to madness and is trying to bind me to someone else, which is the equivalent to slavery - now, I know I’ve been in the hands of slave traders before but I had my magic then, magic which she is rather effectively binding to a man who clearly wants me to go over to the continent and secure his earldom for him - yes, you’re not wrong that I did want to help him the other day but that was before I knew he was also a little mad. _

The words of the old religion being spouted by Morgana went a little something like this - æftersprecan, _oferrícsian, heaðorian-gewylde _\- on repeat until only Aithusa could hear the screech. Then a crash of cymbals, a flash of light, and the glittering of something being formed right over Merlin’s head. He looked into the object and saw runes being inscribed that matched the words Morgana had been uttering, - claim, rule, and control - runes that curved around the cold iron cuffs that were _descending _towards the warlock. 

Merlin screamed his apologies, begged for forgiveness, and tried to fling himself from the triskelion but all was in vain for the chains held tight. 

With a click, the fate of Albion was sealed against Merlin’s wrists which burnt like fire from a prophecy, though Merlin was not sure how far in the future the flames would carry - to all out destruction or to a funeral pyre cast out onto the Lake of Avalon? But in that moment, the pain was too much to bare, too much to be able to think about the repercussions of the actions committed this night because flames were licking up his flesh though there was no red save for in the night’s sky - a shepherd’s delight that felt more like a sailor’s warning. 

Over his keening, Merlin heard the tinkling laughter not just from those three present but all of his enemies from days past - Nimueh, Morgause, Agravaine to name just a few - found their way into his head and guffawed, shrieked, and howled in amusement at Merlin’s plight. 

It stopped. Merlin could finally breathe. But could feel the presence of another peeking through to his mind - the presence had no magic of their own and so could not hear Merlin’s thoughts, but it was evident that this being, this man - _Nusar _\- was there and he was fiddling about with things that he really shouldn’t be. He tried to use his magic but Nusar stopped him. 

He opened his eyes and wondered at what point he had closed his them in the first place. 

“_Flyhtclapas.” _

They were bound. The spell was cast and the cogs of destiny welded together, unable to move. 

Then Nusar gave his first command which would match his final command of his sorcerer many years down the line - _kill. _And if this were before, if Nusar had said such a thing when Merlin was braiding her hair, he would have hesitated and yet after this betrayal that he should have seen coming, there was no hesitation. None at all. But she didn’t suffer, he couldn’t have that because they were once friends, as strange as that may seem, and he couldn’t cause her any more pain than what had already come to pass. 

Morgana lay dead; Nusar stood, triumphant; Aithusa sat, stunned; Merlin knelt, shaking. 

“Get rid of the body,” Nusar said to his first subject. “Then you crown me the new Sarrum of Amata.” 

Nusar left, never turning back towards the woman he had been infatuated with nor his pet warlock and the dragon. Merlin still knelt on the floor. Aithusa was as still as her master. 

A moment longer. And another for good luck. Maybe just one more. 

And thus, it came to be that Morgana died at the hands of her destiny as it was prophesied. But destiny and prophecies couldn’t be able to explain why Magic cried and wept so, nor why Magic braided her hair with flowers or dressed her in pastel silks and sent her body back to Camelot with a whisper. 

And thus, it came to be that a man who was no more than a lord began his route to kingship. Destiny had not planned for him nor his attachment to Magic. It hadn’t seen his coronation as Sarrum nor his plans to invade and conquer southwards and then towards Camelot where it was said Albion would flourish from. 

And thus, it came to be that the druids couldn’t sense Magic any longer and assumed his plans had been successful. Destiny hadn’t wanted a young druid by the name of Mordred to stay friends with the King but that is what happened because Magic had gone. 

And thus, it came to be that Arthur woke as if from a nightmare but was unsure of what monster had afflicted him so. 

And thus, it came to be that Sir Merlin was born.


	5. Chapter 5

_Three years after banishment._

Nusar cursed every name under the sun thrice.

Soon, the insults were not sounding like insults, rather ways in which to entice a woman to rid herself of her clothing. Merlin had not wanted to give the false king ‘dollophead’ and ‘clotpole’ to add to his repertoire so stayed quiet as he undressed and then redressed his master for the day ahead. He did hum in agreement at some of the more inventive insults - such as loiter-sack-sot which Merlin thought could rival clotpole any day of the week. 

“Mordred needs to cede his position.” 

“You’ve said. A number of times now,” Merlin said. 

“Do you think he would be so inclined as to join our cause?” 

“No,” Merlin answered quickly. “He’s far too loyal.” 

“But the boy has magic, would he not be loyal to you?” 

“He thought me a traitor as a child. Arthur has honoured him of late bringing golden opinions from all sorts of people that he would not want to cast aside so soon - he’d choose Arthur over me.”

Hell, Merlin would choose Arthur over _himself_ but that had always been the case. 

“Well, then we shall have to sway his loyalties.” 

“Are you thinking of bribery?” Merlin said. “Because he’s a druid and I don’t think he’ll be swayed by land, I think maybe if you offer a nice berry or two but then again, he could get that himself. The berries round here are quite spectacular this time of year,” Merlin’s sentence trailed off as Nusar drew closer and the cuffs began to burn. “Better yet, he might like a castle.” 

The cuffs burned even more.

“Maybe even two castles, perhaps three if he has a lover.” 

It subsided. 

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” 

Merlin resisted the urge to touch the newly acquired burns as that would make Nusar all the more mad - best to leave them to die down on their own. 

“Away! And make sure he believes you wish to be better acquainted.” 

Merlin scurried from Nusar’s guest chambers, asking a passing maid to bring up his master’s breakfast within the hour. The tournament was to begin the following day and so Merlin would have to ensure Mordred’s approval or destruction - the latter of which, if one were to speak to the Great Dragon, should have been done years ago. Of course, if one spoke to the Great Dragon (of course, if one were a dragonlord or had the prior permission of a dragon or one of their lords (of which there is only one remaining lord)), the dragon would appear to be a little fuzzy on details of prophecies but would be very clear that a druid should die sometime in the near future to prevent the king’s death (of course, if one were to protest that it didn’t necessarily meant that _Mordred _was the druid responsible the dragon would fly off in a huff and most probably destroy one’s village resulting in the burning of one’s family). 

So yes, the tournament was to begin the next day and Merlin needed to find Mordred or else risk the rest of his days in a burning inferno that would start at his wrists and would end pretty much everywhere else.

Finding Mordred was relatively difficult. Merlin found himself running all over the castle - from the armoury where Elyan had stiffly informed him that Mordred was most likely helping in the kitchen to the kitchens where Cook had said that Mordred would be in the court physician's chambers at this time to see what herbs Gaius would need garnering. When Merlin had reached said chambers, there was no-one there and so he aimlessly wandered for a little longer, taking in the sights and sounds of a Camelot hard at work. A Camelot he had so missed. 

Merlin found himself in the courtyard easily enough though he had no recollection of how he had gotten there. There were guards and commoners, all so similar to what had been there three years ago, but now magic was used as much as brute strength. A young mage lifted crates of goods from a wagon whilst an old woman laughed on in glee as her grandchildren spun flowers of gold in the air. He saw as Gwen and Mithian walked side by side, stopping as one of the children said a spell and offered a rose to each of them which they both gladly accepted. 

Merlin quickly dove into the stables. 

Tyr, the stable hand, busy brushing down a horse did not notice Merlin slip in. Unfortunately enough for Merlin, a knight (that one may call Strength if one were inclined to do so) grasped him by the arm. 

“Ah, my favourite sorcerer!” Gwaine said.

Merlin gaped down at Gwaine sitting in a hay bale, a tankard in the hand that wasn't grasping at Merlin's jacket.

Merlin pulled away from Gwaine unable to give the man a reply. He did not want to see Gwaine's face, _his eyes_, even if his tone appeared jovial enough; people were so inclined to act one way and then feel the other.

“If you want to know, I do forgive you for throwing me against a tree!” 

Merlin took another step away. Forgiveness was something he didn't think he’d get, especially from Gwaine. 

“It was quite the party. I either _dreamt _about nymphs and beautiful women coming to 'heal me’ or it was _real_. I guess I should thank you.” 

“You're thanking me for using magic against you?” Merlin stood astounded.

“Yes,” Gwaine said, with an almost bewildered grin. “Well, yes, I suppose I am.”

“You're welcome, then,” Merlin gave a slight nod and then left to go on his way.

“Although I did have quite the splitting headache the morning after,” Gwaine called out. 

“Right,” Merlin sighed and knew that he would not be rid of this conversation and Gwaine for some time. He turned and was shocked to find Gwaine had silently stood without the sway of a drunken man. 

“That's why I'm not quite sure about it being something other than a dream.” 

“Listen-” 

“There was also a delightful fairy boy by the name of Puck. He had ears. Like yours actually,” Gwaine reached out a hand which Merlin swatted away. 

“Puck?” Merlin said, disbelieving. 

“Yes. And a fairy queen named Tatiana,” Gwaine’s eyes went far away as if he were remembering a forbidden love. “I was a donkey,” he said with a heartfelt sigh

“Right. Listen, have you seen Mordred anywhere?” Merlin decided that he may as well get something useful from Gwaine. 

“My third favourite sorcerer?” Gwaine said; Merlin didn't want to ask whom the man’s second favourite sorcerer was, although it probably was the fairy boy, Puck, that he’d mentioned before. 

“Yes?” Merlin said. 

“Last I saw him he was about to go into the forest. Herbs or something. Druid things, I s’pose.”

“Where?” 

“The forest,” Gwaine answered, quite seriously. 

“I meant where _in _the forest,” Merlin said, forcefully. 

“Yeah he's in the forest.” 

Merlin sighed. “You're drunk, aren't you?” 

The task of finding Mordred would be difficult indeed, especially since men like Gwaine were leading him to find the boy. 

“When am I not?” 

And that made Merlin forlorn. Sure, Gwaine had been a drunkard before he’d met Merlin, going from tavern to tavern in a bet against himself to see how fast he could drown himself in mead, but when he’d come to Camelot, the rogue knight had never indulged quite as much as this, especially in broad daylight and never had Merlin found him in a bale of hay in the stables before. Merlin had had quite the profound effect on his friend - if he could indeed still call Gwaine as such. He’d let the man down.

“Great. I'll be off then,” Merlin said, meaning _I’m ever so sorry Gwaine, I didn’t mean to hurt you so much. _Except Gwaine wouldn’t hear the meaning because he was drunk. 

Gwaine launched himself backwards into the hay bale as Merlin left the stables. The Camelot knight gave a shout of - 

“If you find Percival let him know that I can't stop thinking about his giant-” 

For which Merlin was grateful that he didn't hear the rest of the sentence. Although he did feel a twinge of guilt for Tyr who would have to deal with Gwaine and his fondness for the drink and Percival. 

Suffice to say once he had found Mordred in the forest which somehow was the easiest part of a difficult morning (despite all previous claims made). The druid happily agreed to spend the mid-day meal with Nusar and Merlin.

***

There were three chairs set around the table in Nusar’s guest chambers when before there had only been two. Nusar was yet to sit down in one, instead he gazed out the window, looking down at the courtyard grimacing whenever he saw someone in the bright red of the Camelot livery which was quite often thus his features were permanently set into a scowl. Merlin didn’t need to be a sorcerer to see said scowl, after all, he knew the man well, perhaps even better than he knew himself. Better than Arthur had known him. 

Nusar’s scowl vanished as he turned to greet Mordred, with hand outstretched and beaming face which Mordred met in kind. Merlin felt sick.

The three sat and began pleasantries that felt to Merlin so very similar to the betrayal he’d experienced - but now _he _took Morgana’s place, not eagerly, but with enough adrenaline that he was sure could take the place of eagerness. And there Mordred sat, unaware of what was to happen, of what was to be discussed as Nusar talked about his travels throughout Albion and how he’d gotten to Albion in the first place. Merlin knew Nusar was working up to ask Mordred about joining their cause when he said -

“You’re quite the fighter, young Sir Knight. Only the best can defeat Sir Merlin here.” 

Merlin stiffened. He felt ill.

“I have King Arthur to thank for that,” Mordred said, loyal to a fault. 

“You told me you were up in Hen Ogledd,” Merlin said.

“Yes, as a mercenary, no less. Certainly not _Arthur’s _doing,” Nusar said, attempting to drive a wedge in Mordred’s loyalties to create some type of animosity within the boy’s soul. 

“I must confess, I was not as refined now as I was over a year ago, my king helped me improve,” Mordred said, still shockingly polite. 

“But you are a druid are you not?” Nusar inquired, poking and prodding at what made Mordred tick. 

“Yes, my lord,” Mordred shifted in his seat, uneasy and cornered. 

“Then your king, in all respects, should be Emrys here.” 

“I haven’t sworn fealty to Merlin and Arthur has been kind to me of late.” 

Merlin almost wanted to say that he had told Nusar as such but kept quiet for the time being. 

“Did Merlin not offer you a place down in Beormingahám? I am sure he would make you second in command of our army.” 

Yes, Merlin would make Mordred second in command but only because Nusar would wish it so. 

“With all due respect, my lord, I have already told Merlin that my place is here. In Camelot,” Mordred asserted, punctuating his words by placing his goblet sharply on the table. 

“What of the druids? Surely you would want to be with your kind and I can assure you, as Merlin can, that there are a high number of druids within our borders-”

“There is a clan in Camelot’s forests,” Mordred said, with barriers up now. 

There _were_ druids within of Essetir, but they were terrified of someone who they had once claimed as their once their saviour. They had run to the border between Camelot and Essetir, some even boarding ships leaving for the Western Isle to escape from such tyranny, not of Nusar, no, for they believed that Emrys was using his powers for evil, not to bring about the golden age of Albion. At least, that's what Merlin assumed, especially as he’d hardly encountered a druid in the past two years, not since Iseldir anyway. 

“But just think, to be close to your leader, the prophesied Emrys and his king, well, would it not bring pride to you and your family.” 

_Family_. By the goddess. A blow, indeed. 

“I am already a close confidant to Merlin’s king,” Mordred snapped, the guise of politeness vanishing in an instant. Yes, no more pleasantries from the druid boy would appear, Merlin could be certain. 

“But Mordred, _Nusar_ is the man whom I am loyal to and as such as a follower of the Old Religion, should you not obey my will?” Merlin ventured, complying by the burst of heat coming from Nusar. 

“My loyalty is to the _king of Camelot_, not you, not like this,” Mordred stood abruptly. “I should go,” he said. 

How could this be the boy destined to kill Arthur? How could the dragon not foresee such loyalty? 

Mordred began to leave the table when Nusar, as calm as the wind after a tempest, said - 

“And yet, what if the monarchy was to change?” 

“What?” Mordred’s breathing quickened, and he stilled in his escape; Merlin readied himself for magic. 

“What if _I_ were to become the prophesied king with Emrys by my side to bring the golden age of Albion. I could give you all that your heart desired. Castles and land and the opportunity to practise magic openly -"

“I can already practise magic openly,” Mordred said, fiercely. 

“Openly _without_ the threat of the ban being repealed. The son of Uther could never be a friend to magic.” 

“Are you suggesting-” 

Merlin decided to intervene, hoping that if he spoke to Mordred as openly and plainly as he could then maybe the boy could live even if Arthur couldn't. He chose his words carefully, waiting for any kind of reaction from the druid. 

“We only want to do what’s best for the kingdom and we can’t do that with such a … tyrant on Camelot’s throne. Nusar has promised you will be rewarded thoroughly if you join our cause and you will gain my trust once again. You’ll complete the prophecies Mordred,” Merlin stood himself, attempting for his features to be honest and true and noble like the knight he was supposed to be, “and please the Old Religion at the same time. You’ll become akin with a _god_, worshipped by all those across Albion and beyond even to the Western Isle and on the Continent - especially within Navarre I’d assume.” 

Mordred’s face contorted into something ugly. “You are. You’re suggesting treason!” 

“Not exactly-” Merlin began, trying to bring the situation under his control but felt panicked when Nusar interrupted. 

“The prophecies do not say _who_ the once and future king is, only the druids claim him to be Arthur. Emrys himself declares that to be false, and who are _you_ to go against _Emrys_.” 

“Who am I?” Mordred scoffed. “I’m a knight of Camelot, loyal to Arthur and Arthur alone-” 

“We’re not asking you to kill him!” Merlin shouted, stepping towards the boy as he took steps away, reaching out with his hand, trying to at least save _someone_ from Nusar's madness. “We want you to withdraw from the tournament, that’s all. You won’t even have a part in it, you’ll just get the reward.” 

Merlin tried to place a hand on Mordred’s shoulder, so very similar to how Gwaine had done before Merlin had betrayed him. Mordred flinched with open mouth and tears appearing.

“_You’re_ going to kill him?” he whispered, almost stumbling backwards. 

“It is only right Emrys kills the false king,” Nusar said matter of factly, still lounging in his chair. 

Merlin could not discern the look on Mordred's face - it was too hurt, too shocked, too dismayed, too _everything _to make logical sense of. Merlin wanted the earth to swallow him whole. How could this boy be so loyal to the man he should murder? Perhaps the dragon had gotten it wrong, maybe it wasn't the druid boy who would kill Arthur, but the druidic saviour, maybe that's how the golden age would begin. All these maybes rushed through Merlin’s mind in an almighty roar that drowned out all other senses until - 

“Why aren’t you answering in your mind, Emrys?” Mordred spoke. “Why can’t you hear me?” 

“Why would he hear you?” Nusar said.

“You’ve heard me since I was a boy, why can’t I speak with you?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Merlin responded, colder than ice. 

“Merlin, please. You can’t be serious about this? You and Arthur are destined and have been since the beginning of time itself!” Mordred forgot his fear and took a step towards Merlin; this time it was Merlin’s time to flinch. 

“Destiny can be wrong,” Merlin said, turning from Mordred to face Nusar. 

“Not for you. It’s treason and against your nature,” Mordred snarled. “Guards!_” _

Nusar was frightfully calm. Merlin was just frightened. 

_“Guards!_” Mordred shouted once again for good luck. Nothing.

“Kill him,” Nusar said, taking a sip from his goblet. How he was still so calm, Merlin did not know because it felt as though Merlin’s entire soul was being ripped in two. 

“I can make him join our cause, just give me a moment,” Merlin said, desperate, not waiting for Nusar to give him permission. 

“I’m not joining you!” Mordred shouted, shoving against the door with all his might; it would not budge. “Have you done something to these doors? _Topspringe_!” Nothing happened. “Merlin!” he all but screamed, hoping to some goddess that Merlin would let up this whole charade and just ask for help that he clearly so needed. 

“Mordred, please, just say you’ll join us and I can promise you’ll get everything you’ve ever wanted!” Merlin tried again. 

“I only wanted to serve Arthur,” Mordred retorted and then tried the spell once more for good luck. “_Topspringe_! What have you _done_?!” 

“Enough, Merlin. Kill him,” Nusar said, bored of the argument, still sat but now messing with the empty goblet in his hands. 

Merlin went to speak again but stopped. An immense pain rippled through his body and the cuffs visibly began to glow molten hot. The words that he was going to speak tumbled back down his throat, almost suffocating him. His eyes began to turn to that of a sorcerer.

“What are those?” Mordred stepped away, his back hitting the door. He had nowhere else to go. “Merlin, how is he doing that?! Emrys!” 

Merlin took a step forward. 

“That's impossible. He can't be doing that!” 

“Oh, my young druid, it's entirely possible,” Nusar taunted by letting the gold in Merlin’s eyes glow brighter. 

“But that's dark magic and it's powerful and-” 

“Can only be done by a high priestess?” Nusar said. 

Mordred gasped. “Morgana?” 

“Yes,” Nusar smiled the smile of the powerful. 

“That’s why your magic disappeared from the land. And the mind speak as well.”

Merlin felt a sob burst from his chest. 

“Enough! Merlin, _now_!” 

It was not a kill spell, Merlin couldn't bring himself to speak that which had killed Morgana, instead the spell used was one that would keep Mordred asleep on the verge of death for a long time to come. 

“Magic his body away somewhere,” said Nusar as he grabbed Mordred’s goblet and downed the remainder of the sweet wine. “And then continue on your search for the boy. We don't want anyone to suspect you.” 

Merlin did so. 

***

A hand shot out from an alcove, grabbed Merlin by the scruff of his tunic, and yanked him backwards, hidden behind a tapestry. Merlin was about to use magic or at the very least shout out when the hand (which now had a full body) spoke. 

“What are these?” Arthur asked forcefully and lifted Merlin's wrists up to their faces. 

“Your highness?” 

“Don't lie, gods don't lie to me.” 

“Sire, I don't know what you're talking about and this is highly improper,” Merlin attempted to wriggle his wrists from Arthur’s grip. “People will talk!” 

“Camelot is already talking about you.” 

“I can't imagine why. Now, my lord, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me be on my way-” 

“Gwen told me that I'm in danger and about what they did to you. Just let me know what I can do and _I can help_!” Arthur somehow tightened his grip. 

“Look, I don't know what your queen has told you but to accuse me of such-” 

“Merlin! For the love of -” Arthur sighed exasperated. “She told me about the conversation you had, Mordred has expressed his concerns as have Percival and Gwaine. I can't stand by and watch.” 

Merlin grit his teeth but said nothing. Arthur inspected the cuffs, turning Merlin’s wrists this way and that seemingly looking for a way to discredit them. 

“They have druidic runes on them.” 

“You've been studying,” Merlin said with sarcasm. 

“Yes,” Arthur said softly. “They don't look like the ones Mordred has been teaching me about.” 

“Because they're dark magic and Mordred wouldn't show you that.” 

“He's a good man.” 

“Boy, really.” 

“Yes, I suppose he is,” Arthur and Merlin caught one another’s eye. “Merlin, I can help you if you just give me a chance. If it's Nusar then that's simple-” 

“You'd suggest treason?” Merlin accused, aware of the irony.

“From what I've heard, you've tried treason many a time.” 

Merlin frowned. “Mithian?” 

“Yes. Annis and Bayard as well.” 

Technically speaking, it wasn’t Annis nor Bayard who were in the line of fire when it came to treason, rather their heirs including first, second, and third in line to their thrones. If he were in the company of Nusar, Merlin would scoff and declare the monarchs lucky, and yet, instead he was in the company of Arthur and so said:

“I'm not the boy you knew.” 

“No. You're a man now,” Arthur smiled lightly. “One hell of a knight. Tell me,” he said in the tone that he used at their first meeting when he’d asked Merlin if he knew how to walk on his knees, “were you involved in the conquering of Cornwall?” 

“Yes.”

“It was a slaughter was it not?” 

“Yes,” Merlin said because it was. 

It was a slaughter, plain and simple. No way to beat about it. A dragon was used and Nusar had laughed with glee as the dragon had rained fire down onto the unsuspecting townsfolk who’d never even seen such a creature before because they’d never strayed from their homes along the coast. And Merlin had watched on. Watched on with a smile and a careless hand as the Great Dragon destroyed the great city of Caerwysg until only the citadel was left standing and Odin lay dead. 

“But I didn’t want that,” Merlin added because it was true.

The smile was a grimace and the careless hand was Nusar’s doing as he forced his sorcerer to comply. He had watched with tears streaming down his face, as he saw Odin lay dead alongside his last remaining son. Merlin had told himself a million times over that Arthur held some blame here for the death of Odin’s eldest but the warlock knew deep down that it was his own doing. His own powers as dragonlord.

“Surely you could have left him? Become an errant knight maybe,” Arthur said meaning _you could have found your way back to me. _

“I have my reasons,” Merlin said, barriers slamming up and wrists finally pulled from Arthur’s grasp. And yet he remained. 

“What reasons? Surely by then you knew the ban had been lifted.” 

“It's not so simple as that.” 

“What? The banishment? Merlin, you could have come back and seen for yourself,” Arthur said, bordering on desperation. 

“And risked all?” Merlin said, playing to the ruse of banishment of meaning to keep away. 

“You would have been able to escape had it not been so,” Arthur said. 

Magic. Arthur meant his magic. For him to be able to talk about such things so openly, to the man whom he had once despised in that cell so long ago, well, to Merlin it meant everything and more. 

But then Arthur’s demeanour turned ugly, his words turned sour. 

“I suppose you met him on the continent - he does so love explaining his heritage. Navarre was it? And I bet you're so much more than king and knight.” 

“Why are you being cruel?” 

“You wear these!” Arthur grappled for Merlin’s wrists again but Merlin was much too quick for the king and warded off his attack. “I know the symbol for claim! What, you're his secret consort?” 

“No!” 

“Then, why do you wear them? If you’re so unhappy there, if you’re in danger there, if you’re not consort then why do you remain loyal to a tyrant?” 

Once upon a time Merlin could have said the same about Gaius to Uther. Perhaps even about Ygraine to Uther. Maybe even Arthur to Uther, long ago in the years before everything went wrong and sorcerers were still killed but it had been fine because Arthur had been his. 

There was a pause. 

“Do you trust me?” Merlin implored, and stepped closer, their breaths intermingling. 

“What?” 

“Do you _trust me?_” 

“Yes,” Arthur said as though it were the simplest thing in the world. “Yes,” he said because he did. 

“Then you have to believe I’d have found a way back to you if I could,” Merlin said, his lips ghosting over Arthur's. 

Arthur's breath hitched. 

“I have a wife,” he said, voice low. 

“And I, a king,” Merlin replied, putting the slightest pressure against Arthur’s lips. 

And then - 

“Has anyone seen the king?!” Leon's voice sounded from the corridor, followed by rapid footsteps. 

“Which one?” a guard said. 

Merlin and Arthur drew apart, eyes both focused on the other’s lips.

“For the love of - _Arthur_! Who else would I be looking for?” 

They were breathing heavily. The cuffs warmed and Merlin controlled himself. 

“There are quite a few kings here at the moment and-” 

“Arthur - have you seen him?” Leon said, desperate this time. 

Arthur was not so composed. 

“He's not in his chambers?” the guard enquired.

“Do you think I'd be running around here if he wasn't in his chambers?” Leon said. 

Arthur swallowed. Merlin watched.

“No,” the guard said, tentatively. 

“Exactly!” 

Arthur moved the tapestry and stepped out from the alcove; Merlin remained, guilt worming its way into his heart even more than it already had been from Mordred. Leon and the guard stood a little way down the corridor - when Arthur exited, Leon gave a sigh of relief. Arthur noticed that the usually stoic knight was troubled. 

“Sir Leon?” Arthur asked. 

Leon said nothing about Arthur’s hiding in an alcove for he had been friends with the king since childhood and had been suffering for the choice ever since. 

“Oh, thank the goddess,” Leon said, abandoning the guard in favour of his king. “It's Sir Mordred. It looks like he's been attacked.” 

Merlin swallowed, still hidden by the tapestry. 

“By what? Where is he?” Arthur demanded; Leon just gave his king a scared glance. Arthur nodded for Leon to lead the way and followed before remembering his old companion. “Come on _Merlin_.” 

Merlin peered around the tapestry. In the light, Arthur’s cheeks were as red as the Camelot livery and Merlin couldn’t help but fall just a little more. Merlin looked at Arthur as if to say _why would you need me? _

“We could probably do with your magic,” Arthur answered Merlin’s silent question; Merlin followed. 

Leon watched on and thought _they must have been reciting poetry. _Of course, Leon was not dubbed the long-suffering by his fellow knights for no reason and could clearly imagine what had happened. Merlin was glad that the first knight did not suggest such a thing. 

_Poetry _thought Leon. _Very secret poetry that must be kept behind closed … tapestry. _He thought it again for good luck before leading the king and his friend to Mordred. 

*** 

Percival and Leon had found him after they’d come back from a patrol, or so they said. Apparently, Mordred had dropped from nowhere a foot in front of their horses, looking at death’s door. Merlin tried to look surprised, shocked, or something other than guilt, but it was hard to do so. He was tempted to run for the hills, _for the peaks_, find his way back to Dore without Nusar knowing but every time he looked at Arthur he felt his gut clench and knew he couldn’t leave. Not just yet. 

Arthur was the first to reach Gaius’ chambers, with Leon and Merlin hot on his tail. The king threw open the door to find Percival already there with Mordred in tow slung over his shoulder, but being lowered onto the workbench, potions and poultices being lifted into the air by magic. 

“Lower him gently. _Gently_, Percival!” Gaius scolded. 

“What do you think it is?” Arthur said, reaching Mordred’s side in an instant. 

Merlin hung back against the door, nervous. Skittish. 

“Let me have a look first!” Gaius took to checking the boy’s temperature.

“Myself and Leon checked him over. It's nothing physical at the very least,” Percival said, moving from the workbench and collecting the floating objects; he struggled with a mischievous potion for a moment, but grabbed it as it made a dive for the door.

“Do you think it could be his magic?” 

“It's very possible, Sir Leon. But I don't want to rule out anything internal just yet,” Gaius said, giving Merlin a very pointed look; Merlin looked away, wishing he could melt into the wall (which could be possible if he could find the correct spell). 

“Will he be able to fight?” Arthur asked, arms crossed, the image of royalty. 

Gaius took in a breath. So did Merlin. 

“Gaius!” Arthur pressed 

“Probably not.” Gaius said after a moment's hesitation. “I’m not sure whether he’ll wake up any time soon.” 

The three men in Camelot garb were silent, taking in the information. Their brother in arms had been harmed which put the rest of Camelot's citizens at risk and the reason was stood there, against the wall with a face of such despair only the most empty-headed would take as shock rather than guilt. Fortunately for Merlin, Arthur had oft been described as such (even by Merlin in his time as manservant) and so no fingers were pointed. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said. “All your magic, you must be able to save him.” 

Merlin froze. He could. But he couldn't. 

“I … I’m not sure,” Merlin said, a choice of words that wouldn't bring questioning to the table.

“Merlin, _please._” 

Merlin had never heard Arthur plead. (If Merlin were to ask, say for example, the ghost of Uther, Uther would sneer and say that Arthur had pleaded for Merlin’s life in those fatal first few weeks.) 

“I've never been any good at healing spells,” he said, nervous laughter accompanying his words. “Ask Gaius.” 

“It's true,” Gaius conceded. 

But Arthur was nothing if but persistent especially when it came to a half dead friend lying lifeless with only a few heaving breaths a minute that seemed to slow with every intake. 

“But you must have learnt some more in your time away.” 

“I … I can try the traditional way with herbs and the like-”

“If I wanted herbs, I’d be happy with Gaius but it's not. It's magic. And though we all know Gaius has some magic, it's not as strong as yours. You're Emrys, the greatest sorcerer or so you said.”

“I…” 

Merlin felt conflicted. Everything was screaming at him to save Mordred and yet at the same time everything was shouting at him to leave the boy to die. He could, theoretically, save Mordred. 

Arthur sighed. “If you can't heal him you can at least look to tell us what’s wrong,” and such faith was not well placed.

Merlin did as Arthur suggested, despite already knowing full well what was wrong with the druid. Keeping up appearances with a false face that would betray a false heart. 

“A sickness. Deep within him. Caused by magic,” Merlin said, removing his hand from Mordred’s chest. “He doesn't have long left to live. I'm sorry.” 

“Is there nothing you can do?” Percival asked. 

Merlin said nothing, hoping his silence would give his answer. He could do something, that much was true, but no-one had to know that, even if Gaius was giving him an odd look.

“Anything at all?” Leon pressed.

“I'm sorry,” Merlin said, meaning much more than what was apparent. 

The room was silent for a moment, the knights taking in the full extent of what would come to pass; Mordred was too young to go so soon. Merlin felt the weight of the world upon his shoulders. 

“I shall make him comfortable for when he passes,” Gaius said, already drawing a blanket from a shelf and calling potions to attention which began bubbling cautiously. 

Merlin nodded and turned to leave. This would be how their story would begin to end - the druid boy dying, the king and his sorcerer separated leaving Albion to fall in their wake. This would be it for a new chapter was being planned well in advance and yet it would soon be written. No golden king and no golden age, just the terror of a tyrant and dictator as was (and is) the way of the world. Destiny rewritten. 

Merlin grimaced at the thought.

And yet. To save the druid boy may lead to his demise but what was that in the omway of Arthur, the man who once Merlin would have done anything for. Even if his love _was_ unrequited then and now, who was he to stop Arthur fr reaching his true potential. Save Mordred and that potential may be reached, allowing for years of peace. Kill Mordred, and the dark ages may begin. 

Merlin turned back, marched over to Mordred’s slack form, ferociously said a spell and hoped for the best. Nothing happened. Merlin felt despair crawl into his throat but still he said: 

“I can't guarantee that this has worked but it's the strongest healing spell I know.” 

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur replied. 

“Sire.” 

He could feel the cuffs heating up against his skin. The day was not yet over and Nusar was furious - Merlin knew there would be a cost for saving Mordred’s life as per the Old Religion. A life that couldn't be Merlin’s to give. He’d made the wrong decision, one that he’d pay for, for the rest of his very long life. 

*** 

“I have some distressing news, friends,” Arthur said, sitting at his round table with the monarchs taking the other seats. “My champion, Sir Mordred is on death’s door after being attacked while out in the forest. It is important that we all stay vigilant - “

“I think it's clear who we can blame for this,” Annis interrupted, sending a pointed glare in Merlin’s direction. 

Merlin shouldn’t have been in this meeting, but as Nusar argued his case that he was _technically _a king in his own right, he should be present. Whilst he did not sit down at the table, he was stood behind Nusar’s chair as he would have done for Arthur once upon a time. It was ironic that Nusar should call him a king and yet he didn’t feel as though he had moved station very far from servant to begin with. 

“I don’t think we should start placing blame on anyone, Annis-” Arthur said, as calmly as he could; Merlin felt a spark of joy that Arthur had defended him in front of the monarchs. 

“Is this not the exact same situation we had in our kingdoms? Bayard, Rodor?” Annis interrupted again; Arthur sighed, exasperated.

“This is how my boy was killed,” Bayard said; Merlin recalled the prince’s frightened eyes. “He replaced a knight in a tournament last year, it was to first blood as this tournament is.” 

“That was the same in Nemeth as well!” Rodor exclaimed, for Mithian had a younger brother who’d wanted to prove himself; Merlin had been ruthless. 

“I don’t think there’s any foul play here. Mordred still lives and there was no evidence-” Arthur tried again but once again Annis spoke up. 

“The only evidence I need is standing right there!” she said, actually pointing this time; Merlin could easily sense Nusar’s amusement. The tyrant thought he was in control here. 

“He attempted to assassinate my Mithian!” Rodor shouted and stood from his seat. 

“I have no heirs because of that man!” Bayard did the same as Rodor.

“Don’t be so quick to point the finger at my champion,” Nusar said, cool, composed, calm. 

“It’s obvious!” Annis remained seated but her voice shook; there was fear there. 

“Sir Merlin may have had his faults in the past, but I can assure you he is a changed man,” Nusar said. 

“Doesn’t appear to be changed much,” Rodor said. “I should have had him killed when I had the chance.” 

Merlin felt himself flinch. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Mithian. 

“Are your words not verging on treason? Merlin is Emrys and a king in his own right! You’d have an outcry from the magical community if you even touched him!” Nusar snarled. 

“I can vouch for Merlin myself,” Arthur said, trying to calm his table down. This would what would make him High King of Albion. “I was with him when Mordred was found by my knights, Sir Leon and Sir Percival-"

“But you cannot vouch for him when the attempted murder happened!” Bayard interrupted this time. Arthur frowned, his hand turning to a fist hidden just underneath the table. Merlin had been accustomed to Arthur’s emotions and so it was easy to pick up on them once again. 

“I can. He was with me in my chambers. The guards stationed nearby can also vouch,” Nusar said, his tone slimy. “And whilst it may be true that Merlin was searching for Mordred so that I could express my luck in the tournament, he was unable to find Camelot’s champion and told me as such when he came to dine with me.” 

“But who could vouch for him in the meantime?” Annis said. 

“Sir Gwaine and Tyr the stable hand as well as a variety of servants, including the cook and Sir Elyan himself,” Merlin said, after Nusar refused to speak up. “The only time I’ve seen Mordred today was lying in the physician’s chambers where I was asked to use magic to revive him. I failed because the magic used on him was too strong-” 

“But aren’t you the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth?” Rodor looked at him with a keen eye. 

And yet Merlin did not falter when he said: 

“Sometimes things are out of even my own control.” 

“It was Merlin who tried to heal my father but was only thwarted by my sister’s advances. He has his limits as do we all in the heat of battle,” Arthur brought the conversation back to himself, his irritation clear to see. “Anyway, as I was trying to say, I will be taking Sir Mordred’s position in the tournament, as so goes the rules and the oath that we all swore together.” 

“You walk to your death Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther,” Annis said. 

“Is that a threat?” Arthur questioned. 

“No. It's what will happen if you let Essetir’s champion compete,” Annis said, with complete surety.

“They have taken the oath, same as we have!” Arthur exclaimed. 

“It is our right!” Nusar said. 

“Very well,” Bayard muttered. 

“Just don't expect us to defend Camelot when you fall,” Rodor said. 

Merlin closed his eyes. The end was nigh.

*** 

Merlin’s screams fell on deaf ears. 

“You _dare _defy _me_?” Nusar screamed, with all the force of a great tempest, his anger whipping up a storm the likes of which Merlin had never seen before. 

Merlin felt fear. A different kind from when Nusar had mentioned Camelot back in Beormingahám because that fear had some anticipation, some adrenaline, but this fear was acute terror. Merlin should’ve stayed obedient, should’ve retained his role as lap dog and done exactly as Nusar had said. 

“Once again you have proved your insubordination is beyond belief!”

The cuffs were scorching hot. Hotter than they had ever been before and Merlin couldn’t keep his shouts of pain in any longer. Nusar wasn’t concerned about a guard hearing for Merlin had enchanted the room when they had arrived so no nosy Camelot ear could hear. 

“To even _think _of saving the druid boy after we revealed all it's - well, I think someone will be revisiting that pit as soon as we return.”

Merlin felt his breath catch in his throat. Tears fell, not in rivulets but in a steady stream coming from every orifice. He couldn’t move, bound by his own magic and by Nusar’s will alone, no way to throw a dagger or conveniently throw himself out of the window. Merlin was stuck and facing a fate worse than death.

“One week isn't enough for scum like you. Let's see how you deal with a month, or perhaps you should take Morgana's time - six cycles of the moon was it?” 

Nusar paced up and down the expanse of the room. He’d reach Merlin’s side at every fifth pace and the cuffs would burn brighter in closer proximity to the man. Merlin wished he could die by normal means and not just by Excalibur.

“Or, even better, I shall build a new one right here in Camelot - perhaps one for each of the round table knights and one for the _bitch _posing as queen - do you think her children’s magic would sustain her as it would you? I guess there’s only one way to find out.” 

A flare of pain through Merlin’s soul made him speak:

“_Stop_! My lord, please.” 

“If only Daegal were still around to keep you in line,” Nusar sneered, coming to a stand in front of his kneeling sorcerer. 

“You don't get to talk about him. He was a better man than you!” 

“And yet he never left boyhood.” 

“Stop it!” Merlin shouted, his magic pulsing and trying to be free of the cage of a body; Nusar’s will kept it back. 

“Yet when he was here, you never stepped a foot out of line,” Nusar turned thoughtful. “Maybe I should get you a new _friend_ to do so - a child from the lower town perhaps? Oh, oh no, what about a druid child? I think that would suit you better.” 

“You're a tyrant! A bastard through and through!” 

Merlin didn’t see the fist flying through the air through his waterlogged lashes, but he felt the sparking pain on the bridge of his nose. The scar reopened, having never healed properly, and began to gush blood. He suddenly wanted Arthur to come and rescue him. 

“You are _my _sorcerer.”

“I may be your sorcerer but _you _are not my destiny. You never were!” Merlin retorted. 

“You crowned me as such and it is your duty as knight of my realm and to the once and future king to fulfil your promises,” Nusar gripped Merlin by the chin.

“I promised nothing to you nor to your kingdom,” Merlin spat. 

“My claim on you would suggest otherwise.” 

“That _claim _was forged in dark magic! I'd never submit to you willingly.” 

“Willing or not you must do my bidding,” Nusar released his charge. 

“_Never_.” 

Merlin could not remember much of what happened, only that there was pain and a throbbing at his skin where the cuffs cut in deep. When it was over, Merlin’s skin was black with bruising, something he knew wouldn’t recede for a long time to come. 

“You _will _kill Arthur whether you want to or not. Do you understand me?” 

Merlin found he couldn’t form the words to answer. 

“_Do you understand me?!_” 

His tongue felt clunky in his mouth, but he still forced himself to say with great trepidation: 

“Yes, my king.” 

Destiny was sealed. 


	6. Chapter 6

_One year and one week after banishment._

Merlin knew nothing but darkness, death, and decay. 

There were no chains in his pit, but he found he couldn’t move anyway, even if he wanted to. And he did want to, so very much. He’d tried calling for his dragon the first time he had died but the words caught in his throat and the cuffs burned at his skin so he refrained from doing so the second time he died. Kilgharrah must have been too far away, he thought, too far and too angry because the Great Dragon always seemed angry at one thing or another. But even Aithusa was out of his reach, though he never tried to call her because for some reason he was angry at the young dragon though he could not discern the reason. 

Life and death continued on this way for some time which felt remarkably like years had passed at the same time as it felt like only hours had done so. There was no food and no water and so nothing to tell him what time of day it was because there was only darkness and only the pit and that’s all there had ever been. 

No. There had been something else. A man. In a crown with hair the colour of hay. A woman with porcelain skin. The woman had died. He was assured of that. 

But there had only been darkness - no doubt about it even if Merlin’s mind seemed to think there was something else. There had always been the scratchy blindfold around his eyes that he couldn't remove and there had always been his magic which he had thought was quite strong but couldn’t have been because he couldn’t make light of any kind. 

The decay was in his mind. He could feel it rotting away, the meat inside his skull falling to pieces and dripping out through his ears and nose and eyes and mouth. _Arthur _the meat seemed to whisper to him and he responded in kind by shouting all the names of the people he had loved - _Freya, Gwaine, Lancelot, Gwen, Morgana _\- but his skull still reverberated with _Arthur, Arthur, Arthur_.

Then the triple goddess said _let there be light _and there was. There was also a boy who had pulled him from the pit. Merlin felt very grateful. And then the boy said: 

“Do you have any injuries?” 

“What?” Merlin said, bewildered. 

“Injuries. Are you hurt?” the boy reiterated. 

“My head,” Merlin said, because he was sure the meat was still screaming _Arthur _at him. 

“There's no blood-” 

“_Inside _my head,” Merlin said because the boy was a fool and the boy shouldn’t have been prodding at him so.

“Merlin-” 

“How d’you know my name?” 

“That’s not important. Let me look at your wrists,” the boy said, and snatched Merlin’s wrists away from him; Merlin wanted to know where his wrists had gone so he looked properly at the boy for the first time. The boy looked remarkably like himself. They’d have been the spitting image of each other if Merlin were the boys age and had smaller ears. 

“Where's Arthur?” Merlin said because he knew Arthur wouldn’t want to steal his wrists away for a nefarious purpose like prodding and poking like the boy was doing.

“There's no one called Arthur here. I can get you King Nusar, if you wish?” 

“No,” Merlin said sharply. “What about Gwaine? He's got to be here somewhere. He always comes after me.” 

“Merlin, do you know where you are?” 

Merlin looked around at his surroundings. No white stone. Not very pretty. 

“Not Camelot,” he answered. “Who are you?” 

“I'm Daegal. You're in Amata.” 

Merlin felt his stomach drop. “Oh _god_,” he said, and yanked his arms to his chest where he inspected the cuffs, the druidic symbols clearly carved for all to see.

“Merlin-” 

“Oh _god!” _

*** 

Daegal was to be Merlin’s squire come manservant.

The boy was not of noble blood, things like class didn’t seem to matter in Amata, especially since Nusar had claimed the crown. Merlin tried to ask about Daegal’s life before coming to Amata, but the boy shrugged his shoulders and told Merlin that the death of his mother was too much to handle in a village as small and backwards as the one he came from. Merlin felt a twinge of sadness for his own mother but knew that she was permanently out of bounds so long as Ealdor remained under Camelot’s borders. Until Nusar would ultimately take the land for himself. 

The first few days out of the pit were confusing to Merlin. The Amatan warriors (now named knights to fit with Nusar’s idea of kingship) gave him a wide berth, remembering him as the sorcerer who had killed the last Sarrum and set the witch free with ease. Only Daegal talked to him, explained that Nusar was angry at him for sending Morgana’s body back to Camelot (why Nusar knew about that, Merlin did not know for certain, but he thought it could do with the new found bond that the two of them shared), and would remain angry until Merlin came to the training grounds. 

Nusar’s anger dwindled when he did so, and thus Merlin settled into a new routine that was not so dissimilar to the one he had had in Camelot. 

He would wake to Daegal’s face being lit by the sun and then make his way to the training grounds after breakfast. There he would engage with the knights who were led by Sir Pellinor, a brute of a man who towered over Merlin and was at least two times his width. But the man was gentle at heart as Percival had been though not so gentle with the broadsword and the mace. It felt like being with Arthur yet at the same time it didn’t. 

After training he’d find himself discussing matters of state with Nusar which usually ended with burnt wrists and false agreements. Soon, Merlin had learnt to hold his tongue and nod along to what Nusar was saying. 

Daegal would then drag Merlin to see Aithusa, something within the lad wanting the two to reconcile though Merlin felt that day would never come. He felt beyond betrayed and would say as such to Daegal when the boy would turn down his covers for the night. Daegal would sigh, tend to the burns on Merlin’s wrists that had appeared throughout the day, and wish the warlock a good night’s rest. 

And then repeat. 

***

“Come on! Try and hit me!” Nusar taunted, swinging his sword with the refined skill of those taught from a young age. 

Merlin was barely able to reach the blows Nusar rained down upon him, but he did reach them as his training with Pellinor had been somewhat fruitful. Nusar practically skipped around his warlock, always tantalisingly out of Merlin’s grasp. Merlin’s new outfit of _leather _that would rival Cenred’s fashion choices any day of the week was not helping in this practice battle on the training grounds. 

“Come on sorcerer!” Nusar said, in a tone that was far too similar to Arthur’s for comfort. 

“Let me use my magic,” Merlin demanded, pushing at the barriers Nusar had placed. 

“If you're to make first knight you need to perfect your sword-” 

“I don't want to make first knight,” Merlin said, resisting the urge to stomp his foot like a petulant child; he thought he’d got over such teenage angst, but truth be told he was still the scrappy little peasant boy at heart and scrappy little peasant boys did _not _make first knight, nor any kind of knight. 

“But it’s the highest honour I can bestow upon you!” Nusar exclaimed and threw his sword down into the dirt, sharp end digging into the earth. 

“The highest honour you could give me is dying,” Merlin mumbled. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing. I need a break,” Merlin said and, giving no time for Nusar to answer, stalked off to see Daegal, immediately handing the boy his practice sword. 

Daegal gave him a look, one that was remarkably like Gaius’ and was strange to see coming out of one so young. “You shouldn't goad him like that,” he said, but took the sword nonetheless. 

“I’m the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth!” Merlin exclaimed, dumping himself on the bench next to Daegal. 

“Not at the moment,” Daegal said under his breath.

There was a pause. A breath. Stillness. 

“Merlin-” 

“It’s alright.” 

“I didn't mean to-” 

“It's fine, Daegal. It's fine, you're right.” 

“You'll get hurt if you keep going on like this,” Daegal said. 

“I don't care if I get hurt,” Merlin said with conviction. “He's already chained my magic and kept me in a pit - where exactly can he go from here?” 

“Don't give him the chance to find out,” Daegal pushed him to a stand. “You're starting again - take this.” 

The sword appeared back in Merlin’s hands. 

“Try and fight back,” Daegal said, meaning much more than just in the training ground. 

Merlin smiled his first true smile since leaving Dore. “Thank you. You're a good friend.” 

Daegal only smiled back when Nusar was sprawled on the ground under Merlin’s feet. 

*** 

_One year and one month after banishment._

“Knights, sorcerers, fellow countrymen. This past month we have made history - not only have we defeated the old Sarrum and as such have brought magic back to these peaks, we have secured our borders and made Amata the stronghold that bards will speak of for centuries to come. But our plight is not yet over, no, it has hardly begun. If we want the bards to speak, if we want the druids to prophesize, if we want Albion to see our true prowess, we must stay vigilant and conquer the five kingdoms. I am delighted to announce Sir Merlin, Amata's first knight, as leader of our army. Not only does he hold strong magic, as most of you are now aware from the various training sessions and the help he has given in making the lower town more … habitable, his skill with the sword has vastly improved.” 

Nusar spoke to his people with all the conviction of a true king and for the first time Merlin found himself somewhat impressed with the man he should call master. He could see for the first time what Albion could look like united and it was the same sort of feeling he had had when Arthur had given his speeches - in fact, _could_ Nusar do even better than Arthur? 

No. No he couldn’t. Merlin was falling prey. No matter, he’d get through this just as he got through most everything else in his life. 

“That was an impressive speech, sire,” Merlin commented after the hoards had gone and Nusar was lounging in his chair by the window. 

“Could it have done with a little more…” 

“A little more what, exactly?” Merlin asked. 

“_Magic_,” Nusar said. “_Showmanship_, something to get the people talking that will spread to even the farthest recesses of Albion.” 

“I think they'll be talking anyway.” 

Nusar hummed. “Perhaps.” 

There was a pause. Merlin felt at a loss of what to do. And then: 

“I believe it's time we talked about destiny,” Nusar said, gesturing for Merlin to finally take the chair next to him. 

“Destiny?” Merlin inquired, hoping that this conversation wouldn’t go anywhere. 

“You have another name - _Emrys_. Morgana told me it means immortal.” 

“I didn't know it meant that,” Merlin said, truthfully. 

“Well, seen as you failed to die after drinking hemlock without either Morgana nor myself giving you the cure, I can be fairly certain,” Nusar chortled. 

“That's a relief,” Merlin said, sarcasm evident but sweetened with a smile.

“She also told me that you have a shared destiny with a man who shall become the once and future king who’ll rule Albion with extreme power.” 

“Yes,” Merlin answered, hesitantly. 

“Do you have any idea who that king could be?” 

Images of Arthur rushed through his mind and he felt his magic flare up in response. 

“No, my lord.” 

He forced Arthur from his mind. 

“Hmm,” Nusar said thoughtfully and then after a moment continued, “could it be that you can choose who the king would be?” 

“Perhaps. I'm not quite sure how the whole prophecy thing works,” Merlin said, only a half lie as his time staring into the crystal cave had proved that. “Did Morgana not suggest who could be the once and future king?” he diverted the conversation. 

“No. She seemed hesitant to suggest his name. Maybe she thought it would be me.” 

“Yes, maybe. Although I don't think I can choose my king.”

“We’ll see,” Nusar said ominously; Merlin shuddered even though it was the height of summer. 

***

_One year and three months after banishment._

“We take Essetir first which gives us a path to take Cornwall,” Nusar explained, pointing his route out on the map by using Merlin’s magic and creating a strand of gold. “When we’ve got Cornwall, we’ve got easy access to the Western Isle where we search for the most esteemed of trophies - the Holy Grail. After that, we take the whole of Albion.” 

“He wants to rule the whole of Albion?” Daegal asked, fearful. The two were standing on the edges of the room, far out of hearing distance from Nusar.

“I’ve explained all this before, why are you defying me now Sir Duncan?” 

“And beyond. He wants to take back Navarre and then start an empire,” Merlin answered, not taking his eyes, which were also alight with gold, from the map.

“Are you afraid of what we could achieve?” 

“An empire?” Daegal said. 

“We have Emrys on our side. What could you be afraid of?” 

“He wants to be like the Great Alexander,” Merlin said. 

“And he’s going to do that by taking Essetir?” Daegal wondered, incredulous. 

“I know the land well, he’s just taking advantage of it,” Merlin said, finally able to move his eyes; the golden strand disappeared. 

“We ride at dawn. Sir Duncan, you are to stay here.” 

***

Essetir was falling much too easily, though Merlin didn’t want to complain. The number of casualties would be less this way and Merlin would keep a sane frame of mind as well as maintain his humanity.

The Amatan forces were pouring in, a great deal more than Merlin had ever expected as the peaks and troughs of Amata were sparsely populated even in summer. Merlin paid it no mind. They were not his queries to make, his were to focus on the matter at hand - his army, his soldiers, his men who were relying on him to bring them back home. He suddenly realised how Arthur must have felt. 

“Sir Pellinor!” he called out, hoping the man in question would hear him over the racket of screams and sorcery. “Take a good number of men to the south entrance. Lot will try to escape through there.”

Pellinor followed Merlin’s orders and soon he, and a handful of men, had disappeared off into the fray. Merlin sent a protection charm to follow and encase them. It was the least he could do for all around him, men from Essetir were dropping like flies. Cenred hadn’t been good to the land and neither had Lot for Lot’s barricades were falling quickly and his men were in retreat just as fast, if not faster. 

Nusar grinned next to him. All this destruction was what he had wanted, not to bring about the golden age of Albion no matter what he preached. No more confusion about it.

“Call the dragon,” Nusar said during a lull in the fighting.

“Why?” Merlin exclaimed, wiping sweat, blood, and muck from his brow. “We can take them easily enough with the manpower we have. A dragon would just devastate the people!” 

“I said, call the dragon!” Nusar demanded. 

Merlin’s men were within earshot. He couldn’t let them see their king bully him so, especially when the knights knew that their first knight spoke the truth. Merlin couldn’t be belittled or told what to do in this situation or he’d never gain the trust from his men. He had seen it many a time from Arthur when under Uther’s rule. 

“But sire, I can reach the citadel with my magic alone, there’s no need for devastation,” Merlin stressed, noting how the knights’ body language showed agreement. 

Nusar had noticed it, too. “Fine then,” he said. “Magic away.” 

“Thank you,” Merlin said and gestured for the knights to move on.

Nusar clutched him by the arm and pulled him close to his body when the knights were out of earshot.

“But the next time I ask you to call a dragon,” he whispered into Merlin’s ear, his breath hot and disgusting, “you will do so, no questions asked.” 

“Yes sire,” Merlin said; Nusar released him from his grip and led the way back towards the knights. 

The battle went much the same way as battles oft tend to do. There was fighting and blood and death. Screams from women and children rang out. The warning bells still clanged on and on. Beormingahám was theirs for the taking. 

But there was something else in the air, something different to the battles Merlin had experienced. Magic. Oh yes, magic had been in the air during all his battles with Arthur but none so strong, none so powerful as what he allowed to ripple from his body and mind all ushered on by Nusar’s willingness. There was nothing like it, and despite everything that had happened in the past three months Merlin felt blissfully free - there was some irony in that. 

No matter. 

It was frightfully easy to enter the throne room where Lot sat upon his throne with crown glistening with rubies. Lot gaped at Merlin who felt as though he could do anything, could move the moon if he wished, could upend natural order if Nusar wished it so.

“Who are you?” Lot said, petrified.

“The new King of Essetir,” Nusar smirked. 

Merlin didn’t feel himself kill Lot; it just happened. And that was that. 

***

_One year and six months after banishment._

Cornwall was taken. The Great Dragon swept across the land, devastating the villagers all at Merlin’s will; Kilgharrah did not mention destiny once. 

***

_One year and eleven months after banishment. _

The tournament in Carleon commenced and Merlin killed Annis’ heirs. 

“You’re Arthur’s fool,” she whispered to him just before he was about to depart her castle in Marnucium. 

Merlin said nothing; he was banished for his crimes, what more could he do. 

***

_Two years and one month after banishment. _

The Mercian tournament was somehow easier though it still resulted in banishment. 

***

_Two years and two months after banishment. _

The citadel mourned its lost prince as Merlin scaled a tower. 

Nusar liked these things done properly, and though Merlin wasn’t necessarily _willing_, he had to do what he had to do, no other way around it. Hence why, while the city of Cair Ceint slumbered and mourned, Merlin found himself crawling up a tower to the Princess of Nemeth, Mithian’s chambers. Nemeth had put extra guards around the princess and so a routine assassination attempt had been made into something difficult. 

Merlin used some magic to help him find little grooves in the rock but was cautious as Nemeth’s own sorcerers had placed sensing charms all around the citadel. Any powerful magic would alert them to Merlin’s presence. But he grit his teeth, probed out with both magic and fingers, and climbed. 

He forced away images of Arthur climbing next to him as they had done long ago. Back then he was weak but now he didn’t so much as falter nor fall. 

Soon enough he found himself at Mithian’s window. The curtains were drawn and the windows were bolted shut with pins and with additional magical seals. Merlin didn’t curse nor waver, just whispered a simple _Topspringe _and the window opened so Merlin clambered on in. 

He took a few exhausted breaths lying on the floor between the window and the curtain, but soon was on the move again. Creeping ever so softly towards the sleeping princess, he drew a dagger from his boot and wielded it aloft. Merlin looked at the metal, glinting ever so slightly in the moonlight, and then towards Mithian, debating whether this was necessary. 

No matter. It was necessary. Even if Mithian - brave, strong, clever, beautiful Mithian - didn’t deserve such a thing. 

He drew closer to her bed, watching her chest rise and fall. To save a life one must be taken and though he had met Mithian before, had held pleasant conversation with her, it didn’t compare to the bond he had with Daegal. Merlin had to do this, for himself, for Daegal, for the Old Religion who demanded recompense yet still he wished there were another way. 

The dagger was lifted and poised over Mithian’s beating heart. Merlin felt a tear roll down his cheek and heard it plop onto the bed sheets. He could do this. 

Then Mithian opened her eyes and screamed. 

“Princess!” 

She sat up and shuffled as gracefully as one could in such a situation to the other end of the bed, hair rampant and eyes wild. 

“Guards! Someone! _Father_!” she shouted, desperation clear as her eyes locked on the dagger which barred her from the door and freedom.

Merlin held out his arms in a placating gesture. “Mithian-” 

“Help!” Mithian shouted again and made a break for the door. Merlin caught her easily and tugged her back close to his chest, one arm wrapped around her body, the other busy with his hand covering her mouth. 

“Stop screaming,” he whispered. “Stop it! Stop it now,” 

Mithian persisted but her screams were lost to his hand.

“Stop!” Merlin reiterated.

“Mithian! What’s happening?!” someone asked from outside the door, muffled by the wood. 

Merlin quickly shot a locking spell at the door, cursing that he hadn't thought to yet learn a silencing spell. That would be a task for the future so long as he got out of this kingdom with head attached. 

“Don't say a word,” he murmured, barely audible against Mithian’s stuttering breaths.

“Mithian?” someone asked again, concerned. 

Merlin was glad for a moment when Mithian said nothing nor did anything, only to despair when:

“Gahh!” 

She’d bitten him. 

“Help!” 

There was a commotion outside as Merlin wrestled Mithian away from the door, wrenched open the curtains with his magic and stood next to the open window. His dagger was moved to Mithian’s pale throat as he felt wave upon wave of sorcerers pound at the magic in the door with all their might. His options were to either throw himself and Mithian out of the window (which he wouldn’t do because his ‘little secret’ or so Nusar had put it should stay that way) or to face the wrath of Rodor and Nemeth’s sorcerers. It didn’t come to his mind just to be done with Mithian there and then - perhaps due to guilt, or something much grander at play, but he held firm and kept Mithian snug against his body. 

“Get away from her!” Rodor shouted once his sorcerers had broken through. 

Merlin stood his ground and felt his eyes turn gold, felt his wrists burn under the strain. He adopted a fierce demeanour - ah yes, here was Emrys. 

“Father!” 

At her daughter’s plea, Rodor took a step forward, unable to comprehend losing another child and his final true heir. 

“If you move, she dies! You hear me?” Merlin snarled and pressed the dagger deeper into Mithian’s skin. 

“Oh god. It's the sorcerer!” a guard said, stating the obvious.

“Exactly!” Merlin shrieked. “So, don't do anything, or I will kill her, I will!” he said knowing that he didn’t have it in him. Mithian had been a friend once. He couldn’t be made to choose between her and Daegal, it wasn’t right, it was cruel, it was tyrannical. 

“Merlin,” she whispered. 

“Shut up!” he answered with such despair in his tone that any sane person would have been able to hear. 

“Merlin, please,” she tried again.

“No. I will, I'll kill you!” 

“Merlin.” 

“I'll kill you all!” 

And he could. He could because Nusar was backing him up somewhere in the godforsaken castle, somewhere out of reach but telling him it was possible all the same. All he had to do was reach into the earth, reach into the very recesses of Albion and pull and the earth should give - he tried it, but nothing happened. The earth had never been so unkind before. 

In his distracted state, Mithian found her opening. Her elbow met his gut with a fierce thud that encompassed Merlin’s senses for only a moment, but in that split second Mithian had found herself in her father’s comforting arms. Merlin had crumpled and when he came to his full height once again, he was without princess and without a footing in this standoff. 

“Drop your knife! Drop it!” Rodor ordered. Merlin wanted to hesitate, to say _no _and to blast his way out of this mess but the magic that had before seemed so strong was gone and he was crying. The knife clattered to the floor. Then, guards were tugging at his arms and sorcerers were probing at his magic trying to find a way to stop him from using his skill.

“Mithian,” Merlin pleaded.

Rodor stepped in front of his daughter, features furious. “Don't even think about using magic! Take him away!” 

As Merlin was being led from the room, he tried to appeal to the princess again. “Please, Mithian. Princess, I - “ 

Mithian peered around her father’s back. “Arthur would hate what you've become,” she said, with no remorse and no pity. 

Merlin’s breath hitched because Mithian spoke the truth. “Yes, he would,” he conceded in a whisper. 

***

A deal was made between the kingdoms of Nemeth and Greater Essetir. The terms were as follows and are translated direct from the document entitled _Treatis de Cair Ceint _(The Treaty of Canterbury): 

_One - Nemeth holds the right to travel within Greater Essetir’s borders with a month’s notice of travel._

_Two - Nemeth holds the right to use resources from Greater Essetir up to ten miles from the border; Greater Essetir maintains the jurisdictional rights of this area._

_Three - Nemeth holds the right to hereby banish the sorcerer Sir Merlin also known as Emrys from their land; if this sorcerer enters the kingdom of Nemeth he shall be detained until a suitable method of execution can be found; Nemeth maintains the right to call upon King Arthur of Camelot and his sword Excalibur to do so._

***

_Two years and seven months after_ _banishment. _

Aithusa had grown. Whilst she was not yet the size of Kilgharrah, she was much larger than the child she had been when she had sided with Morgana. The time in the pit had not stunted her growth - if she had been in there for more than those six months Merlin feared what would have become of his white dragon. 

Yes, _his _white dragon for Daegal had managed to repair the bond between lord and dragon. The two creatures of magic had apologised to one another, spent a day recounting prophecies and found a peace within the other. Daegal felt rather proud of himself for that achievement and had said as such to Merlin. Merlin’s response was to drag the younger boy into a headlock and ruffle his hair. 

So, Aithusa had grown and was friends again with her lord and now with her lord’s younger companion. She was happy enough to let the two ride along with her on the way to the Western Isle for it would give Merlin a chance to feel at his most free, soaring just underneath the clouds - it was the least she could give him for a life of servitude. 

A ship bobbed along on the water beneath Aithusa’s distant figure where Greater Essetir’s finest men waited for a chance to gain spoils. If Merlin concentrated for long enough, he could just make out Nusar’s imposing figure, but he did not wish to and so did not do so. Here, the wind was rustling through his hair and real life felt so far away. 

“What is it?” Daegal enquired, arms wrapped around Merlin’s torso, hoping that he wouldn’t fall. 

“A cup of some kind,” Merlin replied; he was sporting the beginnings of a beard, and so ran his fingers across the fine bristles. “I don't actually know.”

“You've never seen it?” 

“I’ve only heard about it the once and that was a long time ago,” Merlin said, remembering a feast and a man whom he had betrayed. What he’d do to have brought Gwaine along on this trek with him. 

“How long?” Daegal continued with no self-preservation; the boy reminded Merlin so much of himself with the questions and blatant disregard for those above his station. 

“So long that I feel a different person,” Merlin said because he did. “Come on, we’re nearing shore. I’ve got to be head knight once again.” 

Aithusa flew a little higher and huffed out steam. Merlin raised an eyebrow which the dragon didn’t see but Merlin felt that it was a job well done nevertheless.

“But, if it was as long ago as you’re suggesting, then couldn’t it be assumed that the grail has already been claimed? You could be searching for months, years even,” Daegal complained in the same tone that Merlin had done when he hadn’t wanted to go on a hunt with Arthur. 

“The longer we’re away the better for Essetir.” 

“And the longer I get a chance to finally see the once and future king,” Aithusa said.

“Aithusa,” Merlin warned. 

“Well, it’s true,” Aithusa huffed again; the dragon was in her teenage years of development and so Merlin was on the receiving end, not just from Aithusa, but from Daegal as well. He found himself often sending little messages of apology to his mother in his head for his own acts of teenage rebellion. 

“You’re lucky he didn’t hear you,” Merlin hissed. 

Aithusa sighed and flapped her wings hard; Merlin felt Daegal grip harder. 

“As far as we’re all concerned _Nusar _is the destined king-” 

“Why can’t you just let me or ‘Gharrah fly and meet him - Arthur could save you!” 

“Stop it,” Merlin demanded. 

“Merlin, they’re docking,” Daegal said, giving Merlin a slight shake. 

Merlin glanced down. Sure enough the vessel had stilled about half a mile offshore from a beach. He could see the little dots of his men lowering boats with weapons in them onto the water; they were efficient and quickly they were rowing to shore. He waited until the first boat had landed and Nusar had gotten out before saying:

“Right. Fly down, please, Aithusa, and make it look like I’ve commanded you.” 

Aithusa gave another huff but did as she was told. Nusar met the trio on the beach. 

“Sir Merlin, I trust the flight went well,” the king said, and grasped Merlin by the arm in a knight’s gesture. 

“Yes, sire. Aithusa will make a fine weapon in her time,” Merlin replied and gave Aithusa a pat on her snout. 

Aithusa growled and steam rose up from her nose. Merlin removed his hand but gave the dragon a glare. 

“Excellent. Well then, to the Isle.” 

***

Daegal was dead.

He was dead and Merlin was screaming. 

Distantly, Merlin felt Nusar pull at his shoulder, urging his sorcerer to get up and fight but Merlin could do nothing. He was frozen and clutching Daegal’s slack body to his chest. The boy had an arrow lodged near his heart and when Merlin had looked for him in the midst of all the fighting, Daegal was already gone. 

Merlin could still feel his magic reaching out to protect Nusar but it was flimsy at best, only stopping blows when they were mere inches from the king’s head. No, his magic was focused on the boy, probing at his body for any semblance of life, and whizzing round his veins trying to get his heart to start pumping again. 

The company had been on the isle for just over a month with no luck whatsoever. They had gone from town to village to lonely hermit in search for the grail and had left each empty handed with weary spirits which only got wearier with each rainfall. Merlin and Daegal were not so weary for they had Aithusa so they could all sail above the clouds under the premise that Merlin was using his magic to scout the grail. And though he did scout for the grail some of the time, he often gave up because his magic sensed that it was somewhere in Albion, but still he led the company across the isle that they soon came to know as Éire. 

Merlin had led the company on the day of Daegal’s death to an area known as the Pale. The Pale had once been owned by Camelot in the early days of the purge when Uther had been king and was where Morgana hailed from before being taken in as ward. Whilst the House of Gorlois was no more, there were still lords about, the most famous of which being the Lord Greene who now owned much of the Pale and beyond into the Earldom of Kildare. 

On the day of Daegal’s death, Merlin had suggested the company stop for a moment in a clearing. A castle was visible in the distance and was where the company was headed to ask the lord about their most esteemed prize. And then there were bandits upon them because there were always bandits about in those days and bandits tended to want to attack large companies who appeared to be wealthy.

The company was ravaged, Daegal was dead, and Merlin was screaming, though it did develop into a wail after a couple of minutes. And in those couple of minutes, Merlin had managed to kill not only the bandits but the rest of the company in his grief. 

Merlin felt Nusar’s hand drop from his shoulder because of course Nusar would remain alive. He heard the flapping of Aithusa’s wings as the dragon landed next to her lord and her friend - Merlin felt her try and talk in his mind but the bond between Nusar and Merlin stopped her advances as was usual. 

“Emrys,” Nusar said; Merlin refused to look at him. “Merlin. You must leave the boy and continue on the quest.” 

Aithusa huffed out steam and furrowed her brow. Nusar understood the threat. 

“We have to go. Now.” 

Merlin felt the cuffs burn and conceded but not before whispering a few words in the old religion to wish Daegal’s soul safe passage. He pressed his forehead to Daegal’s, allowed a couple more tears to fall, and then wiped his cheeks. He followed Nusar out of the clearing, with Aithusa trailing behind, and left the boy that he had seen so much of himself in to rot in a field on an isle that was not his true home. 

***

“So, what brings you to Éire?” Galahad Greene, the Earl of Kildare asked, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table. 

Merlin sat straight, looking off into the distance. Aithusa lay at his feet with her head resting on his lap and gave Nusar glares every so often. 

“We’re looking for the Holy Grail,” Nusar said, quite plainly.

“The Grail?” Galahad repeated, looking even more intrigued than he had done when the three of them had knocked on his castle door and said they were seeking shelter. 

“You know of it?” 

“Know of it?” Galahad laughed, short and sharp. “It was mine, for a very long time when I was a child, a gift from a dignitary from the continent.” 

Merlin absently stroked Aithusa’s head, paying little attention to the conversation or to the food made in haste upon the table. 

“How much do you want for it?” Nusar said, eyes wide and hopeful at finally completing his quest. 

“You were just ambushed by bandits, I do not think you have money to spare, my good man,” Galahad said, and took a long drink from his goblet. 

“I can pay you in power.”

“Power which you don’t have,” Galahad reminded his most esteemed guest. “You have no way back to your kingdom; you have a dragon with no lord to command it-” 

“This is Emrys - the prophesied and the last dragonlord,” Nusar gestured to his sorcerer. “Do not think you know power when you cannot recognise a god in front of you,” he warned.

“Emrys?!” Galahad exclaimed, promptly dropping his goblet; Merlin caught it with magic before it hit the floor.

“Yes.” 

Galahad visibly swallowed and watched as Merlin delicately placed the goblet back on the table using magic. 

“Well, even if such power was afforded to me, I’m afraid I cannot help you,” the earl said. “The grail was stolen from me by my older brother, Gwaine, when he ran from home and his earldom.” 

_Gwaine. _Noble blood, an accent from Éire, a man who looked remarkably like the drunkard. 

“And where did _Gwaine _go?” Nusar said.

“Albion.” 

“_Where_ in Albion?” Nusar snarled. 

“Camelot. In his last ever letter he sent, he said he was in Camelot with a friend, many friends in fact. He said not to follow him,” Galahad sighed. “I didn’t. I assumed his earldom.” 

Nusar was, understandably, angry and was as such all the way back to Essetir. 

“So then, Sir Merlin,” he said, clinging onto his sorcerer as the two rode the dragon back home, “when the time is right, we shall ride on Camelot, and seize not only the citadel but the grail as well. Only then shall we bring about the golden age of Albion.” 

“Yes, my lord,” Merlin answered, knowing his past would soon catch up to him. 

***

_Three years after banishment._

“You wanted to see me, my lord?” 

“Yes. I wanted to ask how the new recruits were getting along,” Nusar sat on his throne, legs thrown haphazardly across one of the arm rests. “Do you think they are up to the standards of those we lost in Éire?"

“Llyor and Meyer show promise,” Merlin answered, a few feet away from the throne and its dais, arms behind his back, never looking Nusar in the eye. He had submitted and was more lapdog than great sorcerer. 

“What of Friol?” Nusar asked. 

“I think he would do well as my second in command in the future. He has good leadership skills, a keen eye, great swordsmanship…” 

“But?” Nusar raised an eyebrow. 

“He is untested. I fear I am not the best teacher, Pellinor was good at that,” Merlin said for Pellinor had been lost in Éire by Merlin’s hand. 

“Éire took more skill than I care to admit. How are you going to solve that?” 

“I-” 

“Train them harder. Find some druids, see if they can use magic to help us,” Nusar said even though the druids had long disappeared from Essetir’s mainland and had found solace along the border and in Camelot of all places. 

“The druids are peaceful; I don’t think they’d want to help-” 

“They will help Emrys. And they will help his king.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“There is another matter I would like to discuss with you,” Nusar said, swinging his legs round so that he looked more like the king he pretended to be. 

“Yes, Sire?” 

“A tournament. With all the five kingdoms of Albion.”

“Is that wise, Sire? The three kingdoms we’ve been to have shown great animosity towards us,” Merlin said; he would be made to kill again, he just knew it. Perhaps another attempt on Mithian or maybe Bayard had sired another heir. 

“The tournament is in Camelot, and you know the many reasons why we would want to take that land.”

"Camelot?" Merlin asked, fear sparking in his heart, the likes of which he hadn't felt for years.

"Yes," Nusar replied, cool and composed as always. "No need to look so afraid, the ban on magic was lifted nigh on three years ago."

The cogs of destiny began to become unstuck. The triple goddess was watching and she wanted her favourite creations to be one, once again.


	7. Chapter 7

_Three years after banishment. _

Dawn. A sailor’s warning. And yet it was bright on the morning that one half of the coin would die. 

Merlin arrived at his tent on the tourney field early, just as the sun hesitantly poked its first rays through the sky. The only other people about were servants who scurried out of his way in the castle but they became less and less the closer he got to his tent. He was surprised to see it set up, expecting to have to be the one to do that himself - inside he found a note from Friol wishing him luck. The knight was hoping to be promoted after this.

The tent was spacious enough and housed a simple chair and two tables. One of the tables had already been prepared with Merlin’s armour all set out along it and there was fruit, bread, and other such delicacies on the other. The Esseterian flag - a falcon on a blue background - was draped across the chair. 

Time passed and soon the tourney grounds were abuzz. Merlin could see the shadows of lords and ladies, servants and monarchs as they hurried about getting everything sorted for the tournament. The warlock gave a heaving sigh and pulled his knife from his boot.

He tugged the flag off the chair and set about cutting it up into strips. It was a shame to destroy a fine piece of cloth work, but needs must as the bruising on Merlin’s arms from the previous night hadn’t receded - Nusar was still furious. His wrists were tender, and his forearms painful to touch and so he set about binding them with the cloth, whispering a healing spell or two onto the cloth so that the spell would soak in as the day progressed. 

It was just as Merlin took the last strip and began winding it about the crook of his elbow, that Gwen ducked under the tent flap and stood before her friend. 

“Sir Merlin,” she said. Gwen looked resplendent. Her gown was a bright Pendragon red, set with golden crystals imbued with magic - protection spells, Merlin noticed. There was no crown on her head, instead her hair had been threaded with fresh bluebells.

“Your highness. To what do I owe this pleasure?” Merlin smiled politely, still wrapping up his final bandage. 

“I wanted to wish you good luck,” Gwen said and took that as her cue to step forward further into the tent. 

“Thank you.”

“What’s happened here?” she asked and took a hold of Merlin’s right arm. 

“Nothing,” he said too quickly, and pulled his arm away. 

Gwen gave him a questioning look. 

“I mean, the bandages mean the armour won’t rub as much,” he lied. 

“Ah, I see,” Gwen said and Merlin knew she had seen through his lie. 

There was a pause and stillness. 

“Was there anything else you wanted, my lady?” Merlin said, meaning it as a dismissal. 

“No,” Gwen lied herself. “No, I just like to go around and wish all the competitors well.” 

“Even when one of them is your husband?” 

“Yes, even then.”

“But I do think you’ll be giving him a lot more luck just by being by his side,” Merlin said, an easy smile simple to fake. 

“Indeed.” 

“Tell him I wish him luck as well and that I intend to meet with him in the final round.” 

“I will,” Gwen said and turned to leave. She got to the tent flap before swirling back to face her friend. “Merlin, I’m sure Arthur’s already said this, but there is still room here for if you would ever want to return to us. No-one has to be in any danger.”

“I shall think upon that, my lady-”

“Gwen,” she corrected. “I’ve always been Gwen to you and I shall remain so.”

“Of course, Gwen,” he conceded because her husband was to die and she deserved that much, at least.

She left and Merlin was alone again. 

He turned to his armour and began the arduous task of putting it on himself. Even with magic, it was difficult as he couldn’t reach the buckles himself - Daegal had a deft hand with armour but now Merlin was without squire and manservant. He’d put on and taken off various pieces of armour many times when Gwaine wandered in, stared at Merlin for a moment and then said:

“Well, Merlin, you’ve got yourself in a pickle there haven’t you?” 

“It would seem so,” Merlin said, having put his head through an arm hole of his hauberk. 

“Does Essetir not hire squires these days?” Gwaine said, amusement clear. “C’mere, let me help you. You look like you’ve been in a fight with a barmaid and lost.”

“It was more than one barmaid I should have you know,” Merlin grumbled and let Gwaine shuffle the hauberk from his head. 

“I bet it was.”

“Three barmaids _with _a pheasant and we both know how deadly they can be,” Merlin said. 

“I’d say four pheasants by the look of this hauberk,” Gwaine exclaimed, pointing out where the chain links had become undone. 

“My squire died this past winter,” Merlin explained, in as neutral a tone as he could manage. “I’ve yet to find a replacement that my king would deem suitable.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry about that,” Gwaine said, giving Merlin an awkward pat on the shoulder before reaching for his other pieces of armour. “Well, I’m here now to help you out a bit.” 

“You’re fine, honestly. Magic, remember,” Merlin said, not meaning his tone to be as dark as it came out. 

“Right.”

“Gwaine,” Merlin said. 

“No, I understand. You want me to go,” Gwaine said, showing Merlin his palms in a placating gesture and walking backwards towards the entrance of the tent. “So I’ll go.”

“It’s not you-” 

“I get it, you’re not from Camelot anymore,” Gwaine said. Merlin desperately wanted to tell him about Galahad and about he was honoured to be called Gwaine’s friend. 

“No,” he said instead.

“I hope you’re happy there.”

“I am,” Merlin said although he wasn’t. “I don’t hide anymore,” although he did. 

Gwaine smiled a sad smile. The knight rifled around in his pocket for a moment before producing a rag that may or may have not been one of Merlin’s old neckerchiefs. 

“Take this,” Gwaine said, and thrust the cloth into Merlin’s hand. 

“I thought only women gave favours,” Merlin joked, but took it anyway. 

“It’s not a favour, it’s me wishing you good luck.”

“Which is exactly what a favour is,” Merlin rolled his eyes. 

“And something to remember me by when you go back,” Gwaine said, remarkably tender. You’re my best friend.”

“I don’t have friends,” Merlin said because it was true. All his friends had either died - _Lancelot, Freya, Daegal_ \- or would be dead within the next few days if all went to plan. 

“I know you don’t,” Gwaine replied but folded Merlin’s fingers around the cloth anyway.

Nusar entered through the flap. Merlin saw a twinkle of amusement in his master’s eye and so pulled his hand away from Gwaine’s. 

Gwaine glanced back towards the king. “I’ll see you around, Sir Merlin,” he said, nodded to Nusar and then left. 

“Indeed, Sir Gwaine,” Merlin whispered. 

“Why was he here?” Nusar asked and took Merlin’s seat at the table, grabbing an apple.

“He wanted to gift me a favour, something to remember him by,” very suddenly Merlin’s demeanour turned cold and calculated, leaving only the remnants of the servant boy who’d once been loyal to Camelot. “But I don’t need it, I don’t need to remember him when I am beside my king,” he said and threw the cloth into the air, setting it alight with a thought. 

“I see you’ve come to your senses,” Nusar grinned and took a chunk out of his apple.

“Camelot is ours for the taking. And you shall rule Albion as fairly as you have ruled from your seat in Essetir,” Merlin smirked cruelly. 

“You are too kind to me, Emrys.”

The cloth burned brightly and Merlin realised there had been a protection spell imbued in the fabric. His heart ached. Yes, there would be a side of the coin killed by sunset, the triple goddess had made sure of it. 

*** 

Dusk. A shepherd’s delight. 

The day had been gruelling but Merlin felt as though he hadn’t broken a sweat. Here were the finest soldiers in all of Albion and yet Merlin found that he could fight better than all of them put together. He had once suspected his magic was the cause for such good skill as it held self-preservation above everything else - well everything else apart from saving Nusar. But now, and after being unable to train his knights to an acceptable standard, Merlin had realised that in battle and in tournaments, maybe it was Nusar’s skill that was being translated across through their bond. 

He thought of their first meeting and how Nusar had held his own against a number of bandits. And then again in Éire when Merlin had been mourning Daegal, Nusar had spent a good two minutes without his sorcerer protecting him and against more bandits than there had been during their first meeting. It all seemed to fit together in Merlin’s mind as he defeated the other kingdoms’ champions - he could hardly hold a sword three years previous and yet here he was drawing first blood from soldiers who had been training to kill since birth. 

The shock of the day came when Nemeth’s champion beat Arthur. The Lady Juliana was ruthless and had beaten Mercia’s champion although hadn’t been able to defeat either Merlin nor Carleon’s and yet she defeated Arthur. Merlin knew that if he beat Arthur, he would see Juliana in the final and wouldn’t get a chance to kill Arthur. Why he didn’t kill Arthur in their first match was at Nusar’ discretion - the monarch wanted a greater show and Merlin had to be willing. 

And so, when the final match had concluded it was announced that Camelot and Essetir, Arthur and Merlin, would face each other in the final. 

***

“I would like to take the opportunity to remind the competitors and their respective monarchs that this is to first blood,” Gwen said, the image of a queen for her imposing figure and voice would’ve cowed even the strongest willed; she gave a reminder for Merlin’s benefit it would seem. “For those who have been defeated already, you have certainly made your kingdoms proud, despite the outcome. So, without further ado, your two finalists in this Tournament of Champions - Sir Merlin of Essetir, and King Arthur of Camelot.”

The stands gave a wild cheer, only egged on by Arthur grinning and waving at his citizens; Merlin could instantly feel Nusar’s distaste. 

“You may begin,” Gwen said, and took her seat. 

The two competitors lowered their visors and took to a violent clash of metal and grunting that in any other situation would have turned Leon (the long suffering) a foolish shade of pink. As usually would transpire in such a time of myth, the helmets were soon lost in favour of talking and seeing, things that were vitally important. 

“You were holding back on me earlier, why?” Arthur shouted as the two circled round one another.

“I was doing nothing of the sort, I have my nobility!” 

“You were. I’d just lost to Lady Juliana of Nemeth.”

“I wouldn’t have lost on purpose - it would have only boosted my confidence to lose to my former master,” Merlin goaded, hoping to get a reaction from Arthur so that he could justify the king’s death. 

“And yet, you did anyway. Merlin, I know when you’re lying - I know you too well,” Arthur said and dodged a blow that Merlin sent his way causing Arthur to roll on the ground before standing once again.

“You didn’t know me well enough to realise I was lying about magic.”

“You didn’t lie about your magic, I never asked so you never said. That’s different!”

“Lying by omission is still lying,” Merlin said and then charged. 

“It doesn’t have to be like this!” Arthur exclaimed, meeting Merlin’s sword blow for blow. “If we both pull out-” 

“And you think my king would let me do that?” Merlin laughed darkly. 

“I can get you out of his service! Just say the word, you must know I’d do anything for you.” 

Merlin threw himself forward, Arthur barely meeting the blow. Their swords created a cross in the air, trembling slightly either in exhaustion, adrenaline, or want. Arthur’s face was far too close that Merlin could see the crinkles in the other man’s brow, the truthfulness he held in his eyes, and the sweat pouring down his cheek which to the untrained eye may appear to be a tear. 

“Like banish me on pain of death?” Merlin pulled away and swung his sword around mocking one of Arthur’s fancy moves. 

“That was a mistake!” Arthur implored. 

The two re-joined in battle once again, ignoring the sounds of exclamation and such from the stands. From afar both sides of the coin seemed as though they were engaged in an elegant dance, swords a-blur and feet perfectly placed, but close up both men were at odds in their respective minds, wondering whether to deal the winning blow or let destiny take its course. 

And then Mordred appeared, alive and speaking to Gwen, eyes furtive and glancing over to Nusar. Gwen’s face stiffened and she beckoned Leon over and the two began conversing in hushed tones as the battle continued. Arthur remained oblivious to the issue in the stands but Merlin was extremely aware which made his movement become more frantic, his sword work much less refined but with more strength behind each blow which clearly rattled against Arthur’s bones. Arthur pushed Merlin away, leaving a rather large gap between them. They regarded each other for a moment, Merlin longing to throw down his sword.

“Treason!” Leon shouted, drawing the competitor’s gazes as well as those in the stands. 

Arthur frowned and then looked toward Merlin who dutifully raised his sword with grim determination set on his face. 

“Merlin,” Arthur whispered, heard only by the man in question. 

“Finish it!” Nusar screeched and filled his sorcerer with magic that pulsed and burned underneath Merlin’s skin. 

The spectators watched on as did the monarchs. It was only the Camelot knights who began to make their move toward Nusar and Merlin, almost cautious.

Merlin lowered his sword and the stands let out a collective breath, believing the confrontation to be over. The metal clanged to the ground and Merlin looked Arthur in the eyes with a sorrow filled stare. Arthur watched on, still, as Merlin raised his hands, whispered _I’m sorry _and then blasted Arthur across the tourney. The king clattered to the earth, hearing nothing but the deep heaving of his chest as Merlin watched on. 

Chaos reigned. 

Nusar jumped down from his place in the stands, wielding his own sword and flanked by Friol, Meyer, and Llyor. The false king hurried to his warlock’s side, cutting down knights and commoners alike, ignoring screams and grunts of pain as he did so. Soon Merlin felt Nusar’s presence at his side, the way it had always been in battle, and his magic rose to the occasion slamming into Arthur once again for good luck. 

Arthur lay still. Merlin didn't want to think about him so didn't and turned around to face more foe coming at the Esseterian party from every angle. 

The magic that Merlin had been born with came easy. It alighted at his fingertips and flooded his veins. Pulsing at the cuffs, Merlin’s magic soared over the tourney into the forest beyond, even going as far as Éire where it yanked at the magic in the earth, demanding its assistance. The earth gave unwillingly but give it did in rumblings and harsh winds that sent Merlin’s hair as wild as his eyes, which glowed until there was no colour other than molten. 

He protected Nusar with his life, often pulling away from his opponent to blast knights from his king’s side receiving scratches in return. Nusar fought well enough alongside Merlin, the two back to back now making sure no one could get a job at either’s behind. 

Arthur’s body had been encircled by his knights, protecting their king until their last breath. Merlin could see the rage on their faces all too clearly. Gwaine looked the most betrayed but Percival was not too far behind and yet both of them cut through the Esseterian knights easily. Merlin sent a ball of flames towards Gwen in retaliation.

“Call the dragon!” Nusar shouted, slicing through another man in red. 

“She’s too far!” Merlin responded in kind by launching Leon through the air, leaving Gwen stranded on the edge of the tourney. 

“Call it _now_!” 

“She won't _hear me_!” 

“You _dare _defy me?!” 

“We can still leave with our lives if we go _now_. We’ve killed Arthur but his knights are too strong, we can't do it!” 

“And who's fault is that?” Nusar’s face was feral in the glimpse Merlin saw in the flashes of silver. 

“Sire-” 

“I thought you were the great sorcerer Emrys! That's what she said, isn't it?” 

“_Yes_. But-"

“Destroy them! Call a dragon, I don't care which one!” 

But before Merlin could even utter a single syllable in the language of the dragons, there was a sharp twinge in his gut. And then it twisted and stabbed in again. 

Arthur clutched onto Merlin’s shoulder as he drove a sword into his stomach. Merlin gasped slightly as Arthur plunged it deeper and Merlin held onto Arthur’s arm to keep himself stood up but soon, he found himself slumped on the floor, cradled into Arthur’s body. It felt like a lover’s embrace and Merlin’s breath hitched – his hand, of its own will, clutched the back of Arthur’s head, fingers running through sweaty strands of hair.

Merlin tried to say something or to pull Arthur’s head closer so they could touch foreheads but stopped as Arthur withdrew the sword. The king was handed a dagger from a knight and thrust it into Merlin’s heart. Blistering pain and his hand fell from Arthur’s head but Merlin still looked into Arthur’s eyes and tried to convey everything he wished he’d said.

He let out a final shuddering breath and felt himself slip away into unconsciousness. He was pleased that it was this half of the coin that would die; the triple goddess had given him that concession.


	8. Chapter 8

_Three years after banishment._

Merlin had perfected the subtleties of death. 

It was always much the same. There was pain for a while, blistering and boiling and pulling at every part of his soul until he wasn’t sure he could bare it anymore and then … it was cool and warm at the same time. He often wondered if that was what it was like in Avalon then he’d wonder if he _was _in Avalon - he’d see Freya’s face, her beautiful face, staring at him and then whispering words in the old religion. 

He’d try and breathe but it was like inhaling smoke or water - it changed every time depending on how he died but this time it was like drowning and burning all at once and it made his head ever so fuzzy. The fuzziness was normal and he could deal with it along with the feeling of floating as his body patched itself back together again. 

It was never dark but it was never light, it was more like a grey where he couldn’t tell if the shadows were shadows or the souls of the dead. He heard the souls of the dead often but this time there was a new figure in the haze - _Daegal. _

Merlin tried reaching out for the boy he’d regarded as a younger brother but his hand passed right through the boy’s soul. Daegal placed a comforting hand on Merlin’s shoulder and whispered a spell for good luck. Then the boy was gone, a slither of smoke in the greyness. 

Merlin inhaled his first breath, as dry as a new-born’s, and then another as his lungs got used to working again. His hearing came back next so he could hear the wheezing of his chest and the lapping of water against the shore. Then smell - fresh. Then touch - soft yet wooden. Then sight. 

Blearily, Merlin opened his eyes only to see a man staring back at him. The man shrieked. Merlin tried to stand up but that was rather difficult as the floor began to sway which was a little unnerving, especially when the ground tipped up and Merlin found himself falling. 

_Avalon_. 

Merlin fell from his funeral boat into the water and found that half the lake of Avalon entered his lungs. He spluttered for a moment and then crawled soggily to shore. 

“Merlin?” the man said and shoved at Merlin with his foot. 

“What?” Merlin said, bewildered. 

“You’re alive!” the man exclaimed and yanked Merlin to his feet. 

“My head,” Merlin said, putting his weight on the man because that seemed like a thing the man would let him do. 

“What about your head?” 

“_Inside _my head,” Merlin muttered and put a hand to his head, trying to dispel the cobwebs. 

“Merlin-” 

“How d’you know my name?” 

“It’s me,” the man said and then continued when Merlin did nothing to indicate recognition, “it’s Gwaine.”

“Gwaine!” Merlin said, joyfully. “I knew you’d come for me. Daegal said you wouldn’t,” he murmured, trying to find his footing. 

“Do you remember what happened?” Gwaine said, taking Merlin by the arms and holding him straight; Merlin looked at his arms, funnily. 

“I was in the dark for _so long_. _Morgana_,” his eyes widened. “Where’s Aithusa?” 

“Merlin, listen to me. You died.”

“Yes, the hemlock,” Merlin said as though Gwaine should know and was foolish. “_Nusar_.”

“Listen!” Gwaine gave his friend a shake. “You died and now you’re alive again. I was giving you a very nice funeral with a boat and everything!” 

Merlin glanced out to Avalon. Indeed, there was a boat, decorated with flowers. 

“Where’s Nusar?” Merlin said. 

“Dead.”

Merlin muttered a drying spell; then he noticed that his knight’s cloak was _supposed _to be _blue _not _red_. 

“Arthur killed him,” Gwaine asserted. 

_Arthur. _And then it all came back to him in a flood of visions as it did every time after he had died. 

“Oh _god_,” Merlin gasped and pushed away from Gwaine’s support. 

“I know he was your king and there are going to be a lot of talks about who gets Essetir-” Gwaine said.

Merlin grinned and nearly laughed from glee. He held his wrists in front of his face and saw with pure joy that the cuffs had gone. No more claim, no more rule, no more control. 

“No, this is brilliant!” Merlin felt as though he could cry with happiness. 

“What?” Gwaine asked bewildered. 

“They’re gone!” Merlin exclaimed and thrust his arms in Gwaine’s face. “Gwaine, they’re gone! I’m free, I can do anything.” 

Gwaine just looked at him with confusion. “Do you want to tell me how you’re alive? Arthur stabbed you quite a few times.”

“I can’t die,” Merlin said, not waiting for Gwaine to respond to the ‘lack of death’ comment. “But that’s not important! I need to see Arthur.”

“They’re not going to let you within a mile of him. Treason, Merlin. You tried to kill Arthur.” 

“Not of my own volition,” Merlin replied and walked away from the lake and Gwaine on the search for horses.

“What?” Gwaine said, standing for a moment before following Merlin towards the forest. 

“The cuffs are _gone_. Nusar is _dead _so I’m not going to try and kill Arthur.”

“You mean to say...” Gwaine stared at Merlin, mouth agape, very similar to how he had looked just before Merlin had threw him at a tree three years past. “By the goddess.”

“That doesn’t matter now,” Merlin said and then stopped. “Where are the horses?” 

“You must have scared them with all your splashing,” Gwaine surmised. 

Merlin turned back to face Gwaine and grinned. Gwaine couldn’t help himself and grinned back. 

“Then I’d better get us some better transport,” Merlin said and promptly called for a dragon. The warlock didn’t look out for Aithusa, no, rather he watched as Gwaine’s face lit up even more as the dragon came into view. Aithusa spoke to Merlin in his mind, full of joy and laughter which hadn't been present for years, and especially since Daegal had died, where she told him that he had brought magic back to the land and had fulfilled the prophecy. 

“I’m not a horse, Merlin,” Aithusa grumbled as she landed. “I’m beginning to understand ‘Gharrah now. Hello, Sir Knight, Strength of Albiom” she turned to Gwaine and laughed when he said:

“That’s a dragon.”

Merlin snorted at his ineloquence. 

“You should meet ‘Gharrah. He’s the Great Dragon. And it’s very rude not to greet someone.”

“Yes, sorry. Hello, dragon,” Gwaine extended a hand for Aithusa to shake; he redacted it when he realised that dragons couldn’t shake hands. “What did you mean by horse?” 

*** 

Gwaine whooped, arms outstretched and head pointed to the sky. His hair was ruffled by the wind as Aithusa flew faster and faster, taking her riders higher and then through the clouds where the air was calmer. Merlin felt Gwaine grip round his chest as Aithusa dropped snout first back through the clouds at a speed that would make even the fastest warhorse shudder. 

Camelot stood in the distance, glistening in the mid-day sun. Merlin found that his mouth had upturned into a smile, but he didn't mind it. 

Merlin urged Aithusa onwards and they were soon upon the city, the people pointing for they had never seen a dragon that wasn't spitting fire before. It helped, Merlin thought, that Aithusa was much smaller than the Great Dragon. That, and the city was much more friendly to sorcerers and creatures of magic. 

She soared over the lower town and quickly found the citadel where she whipped around the tower that held Arthur’s chambers in some replica of the cloud dragon from years past. Gwaine still laughed but Merlin found he too could join the joviality, and let out his own whoop of joy, his grin splitting his ears. 

Aithusa landed in the courtyard, making sure her paws didn't crush an unsuspecting guard or commoner. There was a collective shriek and soon panic set in - the courtyard became a buzz of noise, screams, and clattering feet against the stone. Camelot guards tried to calm the citizens down before pointing their spears in the trio’s direction. 

Merlin was tempted to knock the spears from the guards’ hands but soon realised that would cause more of a scare than he already had done.

“You go, I'll try and distract the guards for as long as possible,” Gwaine said, sliding off f Aithusa’s back first. 

Merlin jumped from his dragon, not stumbling nor faltering. “Are you sure you're alright with this?” 

“Why wouldn't I be? It's pure chaos!” 

Merlin pulled the man into a hug, squeezed tight, letting Gwaine understand everything that he wished he'd unleashed, everything that he wished he'd said from years ago. They were still for a moment, letting their breaths and heartbeats intermingle and the joy of touch alight in their soul and then Merlin pulled away. The warlock noticed that Gwaine had a shine to his eyes - he didn't comment, for Merlin knew the same could be said of him. 

“You're a true friend, Gwaine. Thank you.” 

Gwaine smiled and then turned to Aithusa and said “Come on then, let’s raise hell.” 

Merlin nodded and then ran, leaving dragon and friend behind to stop any guards from following through the halls of the castle. He found that it was easy to infiltrate, something Morgana too had discovered, and got as far as the main staircase before someone noticed that he was Essetir’s sorcerer. 

It was almost comical, the way he dodged round guards and allowed many to clash heads. But it was daring as well and almost seemed to go in slow motion, especially during a few close moments with a spear or a spell. Merlin deflected then easily, but still soon found himself out of breath as he was mere feet away from the throne room - trial and error had got him this far, after checking Arthur's chambers and the council room. 

The doors to the throne room were drawing closer and Merlin could feel his magic pulling at him, forcing him onward to be closer to his king now that magic’s vessel had been unchained. Merlin could hear Gwaine’s whoops and Aithusa’s laughter from outside as the two wreaked havoc on the courtyard, not harming people, just causing them enough of an issue that they were an annoyance - a part of his magic was drawing towards Gwaine too but he ignored that part of himself to focus on the matter at hand - Arthur. 

He stopped and took in a breath, put his hand on the oak door just about to step through when - 

A hand shot out, dragged him from the door and pinned him against the wall. A dagger was placed across his throat - Merlin swallowed and felt the sharp press of metal easily. He glared at the sneering guard who had laid a hand on him - the man wasn’t foreign to Merlin, no, he had been in Camelot during Uther’s time and had risen to head guard. Merlin couldn't claim anything for the guard’s attention to detail but his brute strength was certainly a bit of an issue at the current time. 

“Just let me see Arthur. I can explain everything!” Merlin said in the knightliest tone of voice he could muster, adding a hint of pomp with just the slightest dash of arrogance. 

“Like hell I’d let you anywhere near him with that stunt you pulled,” the guard - Kay, Merlin remembered now - said and pressed the dagger harder.

“I was under duress and being forced to by the false king of Essetir-” 

“You’ll say anything won't you, you sorcerers.” 

“If you let me explain things to him-” 

“Though Uther was wrong about many things, he was right about scum like you,” Kay said; clearly hatred of magic hadn't entirely been eradicated from Camelot. 

“I don't want to use magic on you,” Merlin warned. 

“Should've been strung up years ago.” 

“Oh for - _hleap on bæc_,” Merlin said. A nearby torch struck Kay on the back of the head. The guard fell as though he were oak in a forest in a tempest and then Merlin burst through the door and into the throne room.

Here, the noises from outside were muffled and soon stopped when Merlin told Aithusa to cease through their mental bond. 

Arthur and Mordred were stood conversing just in front of the throne, Mordred much more animated than his royal counterpart. They both stopped when they saw Merlin walking swiftly straight towards the two of them, looking like a Camelot knight in the gifted red cloak, his steps never faltering and his features set determined.

“Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed. 

“Emrys,” Mordred whispered at the same time as Arthur said: 

“I thought I’d killed you!” 

Merlin said nothing. He knelt at his king’s feet, looking up at Arthur through his lashes. 

“Merlin, how did you survive that?” Arthur asked and then turned to Mordred when Merlin still continued his silent vow. “Mordred, I thought you said - for certain?” 

Mordred stiffened, and looked at Merlin with some mixture of awe and suspicion. “Yes. I was sure myself.” 

Arthur stared open mouthed. “Then how?” he said, eloquently. 

“Did you use Excalibur?” Merlin asked, already knowing the answer. 

“What?” Arthur said, truly a man of words. 

“Excalibur? The sword you pulled from the stone; did you use it?”

“No. It fell out of my reach. Yours was closer.” 

“By the goddess,” Mordred gasped. 

“Mordred?” Arthur said, looking between his two sorcerers hoping that at least one of them would give him an answer. 

“You truly are as the prophecies say, aren't you?” Mordred said, wonder-struck.

“Merlin, what-” 

“He can't die, unless by the sword forged in a dragon’s breath,” Mordred said, a large almost garish smile painting his lips. 

“And Excalibur-” 

“Was forged in the Great Dragon’s breath. I forgot to tell you that bit,” Merlin said, a little awkwardly. 

“Of course you did, Merlin,” Arthur sighed, exasperation evident as well as amusement. 

Merlin shifted on his knees. “I wanted to explain everything I-” 

Arthur raised a placating hand. “Mordred has explained the parts he knew.” 

“But they are limited. Highly so,” Mordred rushed to say. “I only know the bare bones and what I've interpreted.” 

“It makes sense to me what you've suggested.”

“I didn't want for any of this to happen,” Merlin said, quickly for he believed that Mordred had told Arthur of pure betrayal. “Especially to the other kingdoms-” 

“Don't worry about the other kingdoms. Do you swear to me that what you've done was not of your own volition?” 

“I swear it.” 

“Then I believe you,” Arthur said because he did. 

And then, because all things even understandings must come to an end, a whole cohort of castle guards entered, screaming about how _Sir Gwaine should never be allowed anywhere near a dragon ever again. Now we know that because the Rising Sun is being rebuilt (something he's commissioned himself mind you and has already drank all the mead in storage) he doesn't have anywhere to go, it doesn't mean he should be allowed to consort with dragons! We have a half mind to quit! _

Arthur gave Merlin a look of pure exasperation; Merlin merely smirked. The warlock shifted his eyes to the side as if to say _get a move on, sire_, to which Arthur gave him a sarcastic little smile and then turned to his guards with diplomacy on his mind. Arthur guided his guards from the throne room promising them a flagon of mead each if they didn't quit, leaving the two sorcerers alone in the room together. 

A pause. Stillness. And then. 

“Emrys,” Mordred said with a tone somewhere between reverence and hatred. 

“Mordred,” Merlin said and stood from his kneeling position. “I am so sorry for almost killing you, now and when you were a boy.” 

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Mordred replied. 

Merlin gave a laugh. “I guess destiny can be wrong.”

“Yes. I want to tell you something, before you hear it from Arthur or from someone else,” the druid boy said quite quickly and suddenly. “I've been made court sorcerer. Arthur thought you dead. He'd been waiting for you to take that position for when you returned but because you were dead, well, we’ve had the ceremony but if you want-” 

Merlin stopped the boy before he gave himself an injury. “Mordred, I'm proud of you. Arthur has chosen a strong man.” 

“Merlin, the position is yours if you want it is what I'm saying.” 

“I don't want it,” Merlin said. 

“What?” Mordred blurted. 

“I was always happy with being his servant until the day I died.”

“So…” 

“I'm not a knight, not anymore - I'm a spoil of war.” 

Merlin heard Arthur's footsteps as the king re-entered the room behind him. 

“But-” 

“I'm retaking my role as manservant, if his majesty will let me.” 

“That's very presumptuous of you Merlin,” Arthur teased.

“And that's a very big word for you, sire,” Merlin retorted.

“I think George will have a few words about that.”

“George can sod off!”

And all was right in the world.

*** 

There was a fire burning in the hearth. 

The fire birds, the _merlins_, sat and preened in the recesses of Arthur’s chambers, their jobs complete for now, as king and manservant sat on the floor in the glow of the fire sipping sweet wines and talking of things to come. Familiarity felt nostalgic and Merlin basked in it. The contentedness he felt was something else, different from Dore, different from Daegal - it felt right moreso than what had come before. 

Merlin had discarded the leather in favour of a red shirt - one of Arthur’s cast-offs - and baggy pair of breaches. His neckerchief was back as was his jacket, returned to him by Iseldir that afternoon after he had left the throne room after his chat with Mordred and Arthur. The scruff was gone from his chin and Gwen had given him the standard servant haircut so now his ears were sticking out again. His boots, again, were another of Arthur’s cast-offs. 

He felt human again, not a tool, not a weapon, just Merlin. 

Aithusa had found a friend in Gwaine and the two were off flying high above the clouds. Merlin assumed that Aithusa had gone off to meet with Kilgharrah and just knew that the Great Dragon and Gwaine would get on like a tavern on fire. But that was an issue to worry about another day. 

For now, there was this: Arthur and Merlin sat next to a fire and drinking as though no time had passed at all. 

“What will happen to Essetir?” Merlin inquired, his natural curiosity finding him again after so many years away. 

“I don't know,” Arthur answered truthfully. “Did Nusar have an heir?” 

“No,” Merlin scoffed out. “He thought he'd survive anything.” 

“Then that's another thing to leave until morning.” 

“Alongside my knights,” Merlin reminded. 

“Yes. I'll try and be as lenient as I can but I can only ensure _your _protection.” 

“I understand,” Merlin said because he did. 

Arthur took a long drink; Merlin refilled his king’s goblet with a flash of his eyes. 

“Annis is baying for your blood,” Arthur warned but seemed sombre with it. 

“I'm not surprised,” Merlin said and then saw Arthur’s drawn eyebrows and pinched lips so continued. “Listen, if you need to my banishment can still stand - I can go to the continent and actually make it this time. Or, Excalibur is only in the armoury, I can make it look-"

“No,” Arthur said, fiercely. “She’ll have to cope. And I think she’ll be getting Amata in the treaty signing.” 

Merlin didn't know what quite to say. 

“You're not leaving, not again,” Arthur said, resolutely. 

“How very sentimental of you,” Merlin smirked into his goblet. 

“I lifted the ban for you, how much more sentimental can I get?” Arthur's tongue had been loosened by the wine. 

There was a pause while the two of them thought very different things. 

“If it's possible,” Merlin began, tentatively. “When everything's settled down, I would like to go see my mother.” 

“Of course,” Arthur said, confused as to why Merlin was so tentative. 

“Alone,” Merlin said, rather quickly. 

Arthur frowned. 

Merlin tried to explain, his tone frantic. “I have many things that I have to tell her-” 

“I can't let you go alone.”

“Arthur -” 

“You can take Gwaine with you, but I can't allow you to go alone.”

“Don't you trust me?” Merlin asked. 

“I do. But you have made many enemies these past three years, enemies that would like to harm you.” 

“Gwaine, then,” Merlin conceded. “But no-one else.” 

Arthur placed his goblet on the floor and turned quite serious, staring at the fire merlins. 

“I can't lose you again, Merlin,” he said. “You can call me a girl all you want, but it's true.”

“I wasn't going to say anything like that at all, sire.” 

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur said, though fondness was in his tone and when Arthur looked at Merlin there was shine in his eyes that Gwaine had had earlier.

“Oh, he says he's missed me and then tells me to shut up, how very noble,” Merlin teased, ignoring the elephant in the room.

“I never said I missed you,” Arthur muttered, surreptitiously wiping his eyes. 

“You did.” 

“When?”

“Just then.”

“No I didn't.”

“It was _implied_,” Merlin smiled as Arthur smiled back. “Well, I missed you too, you great prat.” 

“On second thoughts, I'll send you back to Essetir.”

“You wouldn't be able to.” 

“Why ever not?” Arthur challenged. 

“Because I could take you apart with one blow.” 

Arthur gazed. “I _did_ miss you.”

Merlin felt the weight of the world with that gaze so he asked something that he wouldn't have been able to years ago back when everything was simple yet harder. 

“Do you want to see some magic?” 

Arthur nodded so Merlin complied and put his goblet out of the way. Eyes glowing golden, like the sun rising in the morning upon a shining crown upon a true king’s head, Merlin brought the fire to life. A dragon appeared and then a unicorn and then a gryphon and then a horse and the four played at Merlin’s command. The warlock refused to look at his king but turned his attention away from the fire. He closed his palms together and his eyes and whispered a spell, the glory of life erupting from his soul - he opened his palms then his eyes and watched a blue butterfly flutter about the room. It landed on Arthur’s hand for a second before fluttering away again.

“Beautiful. _Ethereal_,” the king muttered. 

Merlin swallowed. So did Arthur. The two locked eyes and then leant in ever so slowly, tongues darting over chapped lips which then met. Merlin's magic rejoiced as they deepened the kiss, hands coming to cradle at heads allowing fingers to roam through hair and _tug_ _and hold_. 

They pulled away at the same time, gently with reverence. Arthur brought a hand up to Merlin’s face and traced his features, his forehead, cheeks, coming to rest at the scar on the bridge of his nose. Merlin shivered. 

“I have a wife,” Arthur muttered, apologetic. 

“I know.” 

“I have children on the way.” 

“_I know_,” Merlin said, because he did. 

“Yes, I suppose you do,” Arthur drew away, but his fingers lingered for too long. 

“Maybe in the next life. Hopefully you'll be a farmer,” Merlin smiled sadly. 

Arthur took his goblet and Merlin did the same. 

“Yes,” Arthur said and raised his goblet. “To the future?” Arthur smiled a crooked smile.

“To the future,” Merlin agreed and the two drank. 

They kept a mutual silence as Merlin prepared Arthur for bed, dressing him and turning down the sheets, putting out the fire by hand and whispering in the old religion to the fire merlins who dimmed their lights.

“Will that be all, sire?” 

“Yes. Thank you,” Arthur said, watching as Merlin made his way to the door, goblets in hand. “Goodnight Merlin.” 

Merlin took a moment to stare, to bask in Arthur’s beauty and reverence.

“Goodnight, my king,” Merlin replied, happy and free. 


	9. Epilogue

_Four years after banishment._

He had screamed at the Great Dragon for a long time but all the dragon said in response was: 

“I had seen another time, young warlock, where Arthur did not know until the very end. You are very lucky, Merlin, and you must remember that Arthur will rise again.” 

“What does that mean?” Merlin asked, staring at his love by his feet, the water of the lake trying to reach for Arthur. “You speak in riddles; you always have done.” 

“Time is not a fluid thing-” 

“What do you mean Arthur will rise again?” 

The dragon looked down at Emrys, the immortal, with a mix of despondency and cunning glinting in his eye. 

“He's not dead?” 

“He is the Once and Future King. For when Albion’s need is greatest, he will live once more.” 

“When will that be? How long will I have to wait?” 

But the dragon was already gone. 

***

_One thousand five hundred years after banishment. _

“Camelot?” the girl asked, wonder sparking in her heart and images of great kings and brave knights alighting in her mind.

“Yes,” Merlin said. “You were there.” 

“I can't have been,” said Morgana, looking at the young man beside her. 

“You see the Tor?” Merlin said, pointing towards the hill in the lake. 

“Yes.”

“And the fairies?” 

“Yes,” Morgana said because she did. 

“Only people with magic can see the fairies, well, they don't like being called fairies what with the whole gay thing back in the twenties. I should say Sidhe really, but never mind that. I like to annoy them,” Merlin glanced toward Morgana, though she didn't know herself as that yet, and saw his greatest failure. 

“Are we high?” Morgana asked. “I know we came here for the festival but I wasn't planning on getting high just yet.” 

“No, we’re not high,” Merlin chuckled. “And you'll forget me in a moment, you always do.” 

“How could I forget you?” she wondered because it felt like he had always been there; and she was right, in a way. 

“Because, my dear, until Arthur returns magic will stay hidden and you will forget.” 

A pause. Comfort. Stillness. 

“How many times have I forgotten?” 

“Oh, as many times as you have remembered.” 

“You're quite good at riddles,” Morgana bumped her shoulder against his. 

“I learnt from the best,” Merlin turned to look at her face, so pale in the moonlight. 

“Are you going to kiss me?” 

“No,” Merlin said, and looked beyond her face to see Gwen standing underneath a lamplight. “Your girlfriend is waiting for you.” 

Morgana peered over her shoulder for but a moment and then her eyes found Merlin’s. 

“I'm sorry, have we met?” 

“No, my dear,” the old man said, beard grey and hat a scratchy blue. 

Merlin looked out at the lake and smiled. Oh, how time had mocked him but he would only have to wait a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I'll probably be rambling for days about it on my tumblr aha. Fun fact - I nearly joined a druidic cult whilst writing this.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:
> 
> \- magical torture  
\- pseudo slavery  
\- physical abuse  
If you need me to tag anything else contact me on my tumblr.


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